ABCs of Coco
by classicdisneyFTW
Summary: A random series of one-shots based around the alphabet with all the "Coco" characters. (No particular chronological order)
1. Announcement

Imelda scrubbed hard at some old beans crusted on the wooden plate from last night's dinner. They stubbornly refused to come off, but Imelda persisted. Soon, the brown grime began to give way. She never left the dishes piled up like this all day to get grimy and smelly, but she had been very busy all day and had neglected most of her daily duties.

She continued her work, chiseling away at the next dish. Héctor would be home soon and would definitely notice the messy house. She always kept it in such mint condition and for it to be in such disarray like this could hardly go unobserved. Would he say something? Imelda didn't know what she would do if he did. Even if he didn't say anything, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to contain herself; she was far too nervous and excited all at the same time.

She stopped scrubbing for a moment and looked down at her stomach. They had barely been married two months. What would he think? They were both still so young.

She sighed and gently rested a hand over her abdomen. She would have to find some way to tell him; a gentle way. Knowing his disposition, he'd probably be completely shocked. She wouldn't be surprised if he ended up fainting. So what would she say? How would she break the news?

Imelda put down the dish and rag she was currently using and straightened up, imagining her husband standing in front of her in the doorway. "Héctor, I have something to tell you," she said simply. She changed her voice in an effort to match his. "Oh really?" she said in a deeper and exaggeratedly upbeat voice, "What is, _mi amor?"_

She turned away from the imaginary Héctor who stood in the doorway to face the wall in contemplation. She used her regular voice again. "Well, you might have noticed that the house is a bit of a mess today."

Héctor's voice: "What? Oh, I hardly noticed. Messy? No, I know you're always working so hard!"

Back to her own: "The thing is, I couldn't go about my usual chores today because I had to make an important visit."

Héctor: "A visit?"

"Sí. I went to see Dr. Jiménez today and he gave me some very interesting news."

"News? Oh, _mi amor!_ What is it? Are you sick?"

"No, no. It's just..." Imelda took a deep breath and then rested a hand over her stomach once more. "Héctor, you're going to be a father!"

She turned around in her excitement as she said these words only to come face-to-face with the _real_ Héctor. He had obviously only just entered, home from the plaza. He stood in all his gangly glory with his guitar slung over his shoulder, eyes wide, and jaw slack. Imelda froze at the sight of him.

"H-Héctor," she stammered, completely caught off guard.

He remained stoic in the doorway, staring numbly at her. He had definitely heard her. Imelda's mind spun as she desperately tried to think of a way to explain, to comfort him, or something. She had no idea what he was thinking! Was he angry? Pleased? Confused?

"Héctor, I-" she began, stepping closer to him.

His eyes travelled down to her belly and he stared in wonder. "Is it true?" he asked slowly, "Are you really...?"

" _Sí,"_ she replied in defeat, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this-"

But then much to her surprise, Héctor was sniffling. Imelda started. He wiped at his eyes and shook his head as more tears came. Imelda didn't know what to do. He was crying. Actually crying! Oh no, he was sad... No, he was _angry_. He didn't want children! What had she done? She should have been more careful in breaking the news to him.

"Hé... Héctor..." Imelda said cautiously, reaching out for him.

Now he was full on weeping, covering his face an bawling into his hands. His sobs could probably be heard from outside. _Dios mio!_ What had she done!? She had never seen him in such a state. She had not realized he hated children so much.

"Héctor, there's nothing we can do," Imelda said loudly over his cries, "The baby is coming and... I'm sorry. Please, just calm down. It won't be so bad."

Suddenly, his sobbing sounded a little different somehow; less weepy and more like... laughter? Yes, he was laughing through his tears. Imelda was yet again caught off guard as she watched her husband's face light up with spastic chuckles, bouncing back and forth between moorish cries and hectic laughter. Oh no, she had broken him, he was going crazy.

Before she knew what was happening, he was rushing towards he and sweeping her off her feet in a great twirling hug, still laughing and crying all the while. Imelda let out a yelp of surprise as he did so, but eventually joined him in laughing.

"Héctor!" she cried out as he continued to spin, "Héctor, stop!"

He finally set her down, grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks wet with tears. She smirked, still holding onto his shoulders. "You're happy, then?" she asked with some caution.

"Happy? Imelda!" he declared, "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me, since marrying you obviously."

Imelda poked him in the shoulder, smiling. "I just wasn't sure if you wanted..."

"Of course I want kids!" Héctor stated, "Why, only today I was just saying to Ernesto that I wished I had a kid to play with. I've always loved them." He pulled her closer, smiling. "In fact, I think we should make _a whole lot_ of them."

Imelda giggled and poked him in the shoulder again. "Easy there, Casanova. I think maybe we should focus on _this one_ right now."

Héctor pulled back just enough so that he could rest a hand on her stomach. "This one," he repeated quietly, sounding awestruck.

Imelda put a hand over his, smiling. "This one."


	2. Blessed

"Let me go!"

"Héctor, I really think−"

"Ernesto, if you don't let me go I'll−"

Ernesto de la Cruz was clutching his scrawny friend by the back of his shirt, holding him just off the ground so that his legs flailed uselessly in the air. "You'll what?" Ernesto challenged, "You'll SING me to death?"

Héctor scowled at him and continued to struggle. "You have to let me in there!" he insisted.

"Héctor, you were kicked out for a reason."

"Those midwives don't know what they're talking about."

"Right. Because midwives don't know how to deliver babies and _you_ do?"

Héctor did not respond and instead continued to flail pointlessly against his much brawnier friend. "If I could just get in there and..."

"No, Héctor," Ernesto stated firmly, "You were just in the way. The midwives said to wait out here."

Héctor groaned. "Since when are you all about following the rules?"

"Since I saw you push a bunch of women, midwives no less, to the ground while you were running to your wife's side. Also, I'm pretty sure you never stopped talking, not even to take a breath the entire two minutes you were in there."

Héctor harrumphed and crossed his arms. "I'd like to see you do any better when your wife gives birth."

Ernesto laughed. "My wife? Listen, amigo, the day I settle down will be the day you stop being clumsy."

"Me? Clumsy?" Héctor repeated with an indignant scoff.

"You are the one who tripped and spilled a giant bucket of water all over your wife and the bed just now."

Héctor rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He had long stopped struggling and had taken to crossing his arms, still dangling above the ground. "Could you put me down at least?"

* * *

After a couple hours, a midwife finally stuck her head out of the room. "Héctor," she said with a straight expression, "You can come in now."

Héctor was up in an instant. Ernesto had left about an hour ago to get food even though Héctor insisted that he was not hungry. "Well I am," Ernesto had said, "You keep waiting here like a _tonto nervioso_ then."

"Is... Is everything...? I mean, did it all...?" Héctor asked the midwife carefully.

"Your wife is perfectly fine," the midwife stated.

Héctor sighed in relief and then asked. "And the baby?"

"Also healthy," the midwife replied, "She will grow up nice and strong."

 _She?_ Héctor mulled over the midwife's words. It was a girl. He was a father to a girl. He could hardly comprehend it.

"Are you going to come in?"

Héctor realized he was still standing awestruck in his place beside the door. He had been wanting so desperately to go inside for so long, but now that it was time, he felt so unsure. He nodded at the midwife and she stepped aside as he entered.

He first saw Imelda lying on the bed where he had left her. The sheets had all been changed and she laid bundled under a fresh blanket, her eyes shut from exhaustion. Her hair was slightly frazzled, but her entire aura glowed with something... something undefinable.

As Héctor stepped closer, he saw that she had something in her arms; a bundle of blankets. His eyes widened. It was the baby. _Their_ baby.

He had been thinking about this moment for months, ever since Imelda had told him she was pregnant. Yet, somehow, he still felt unprepared. What would it be like to have a child in their lives?

He finally reached the bedside and Imelda opened her eyes. She gave a slight smile. "Héctor," she greeted him.

"Imelda," he said back, gently resting a hand on her head, "You look beautiful."

She smirked. "Liar."

"I mean it," he said, smiling, "How do you feel?"

Imelda rolled her eyes. "Like I just got run over by a train."

Héctor kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"It was worth it though," Imelda said, holding up the bundle in her arms, "Look."

Héctor leaned forward and bushed aside some of the blankets to get a better look at the contents. After digging around for a little bit, he finally came across a small tuft of black hair. He gingerly pulled back the blankets even more until he finally saw the most endearing face imaginable. Her eyes were closed and she snoozed peacefully in her mother's arms. Héctor marveled at her small round face, her perfectly smooth skin, her tiny hand that could probably fit around just one of his fingers. He was absolutely floored. He had seen babies before, sure− he always passed women in the streets carrying them and he liked to stop and say hello− yet somehow, he had never seen a baby quite like this; a baby this beautiful, this fragile, this enchanting, this precious. Héctor could hardly believe she was theirs.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Imelda said softly.

Héctor was at a loss for words as he continued to stare at the priceless little human in his wife's arms.

"Héctor?" Imelda finally asked after a long moment of silence.

Héctor shook his head, snapping himself out of his trance. " _Sí_ , yes she is," he finally agreed, "I'm just glad she didn't get my nose."

Imelda let out a light laugh. "I don't know. I think I see it."

Héctor peered closer. "What are talking about? She's the most perfect thing I've ever seen. There's no way she came from us− Uh, me," Héctor quickly corrected at Imelda's raised eyebrow.

"Well believe it," Imelda said with a smirk. She then extended the bundle of blankets out towards him. "Did you want to hold her?"

Héctor recoiled. "Wh-what?"

"Hold her, Héctor," Imelda repeated, "It's what _papás_ do. Hold their children."

"I uh..." Héctor stared at the delicate little person in his wife's arms, "I don't uh... what if I drop her?"

"You're not going to drop her," Imelda replied, rolling her eyes.

"How do you know?"

"Because you don't ever drop anything," Imelda stated, then quickly added, "Valuable."

"Oh?" Héctor challenged, a look of panic in his eyes, "You don't know about the glass china dish pieces I've hidden under the rug."

"The _what?"_ Imelda cried out, "You mean one of the heirlooms from my _abuela?"_

Héctor's face tightened. "I uh... no, I meant _another_ glass china dish."

Imelda sat back her eyes going back and forth with desperate thought, obviously trying to figure out which piece Héctor had broken and where he had hidden it. She finally pinched the bridge of her nose. _"¡Ay, dios mio, idiota!"_ she declared in annoyance, "Well... you've never dropped something that you care about, right? Have you ever dropped your guitar?"

Héctor did not have to think about that. "Never," he declared. He always kept his instrument in prime condition and treated it as though it were his own... oh. He saw where Imelda was going with this.

Imelda raised a knowing eyebrow at him and held the baby out to him again. "Are sure you don't want to hold your baby, papá?"

Héctor stared at the small bundle and swallowed hard. He straightened up, cleared his throat, and shook out his arms. He then extended his hands to Imelda who was waiting patiently. Once he was ready, she carefully handed him the bundle of blankets. After Imelda removed her own arms, Héctor clutched at it as tightly yet as delicately as possible. He felt as though he had never held a baby in his life.

"Héctor, relax," Imelda told him, "She's not just going to shatter to pieces if you hold her properly."

Héctor nodded and did his best to readjust his arms, holding the bundle closer to his chest. He looked down at her small face and watched her continue to sleep. She gave out a small yawn and then adjusted herself so that she was more comfortable in his arms, nestling against his chest and snoozing soundly. Héctor was endeared towards her even more and he lifted a finger to her to stroke her small, soft cheek.

He rocked back and forth slightly, keeping his eyes focused on her and without thinking, began to hum. It was a soft, gentle melody of nothing particular, but when he looked at her, it just came to him. He felt a connection to her as he held her closer to himself. Perhaps he could believe she was his after all. He finally glanced up at Imelda who was smiling at them and he returned it. They truly were blessed.


	3. Caramelos

_These are not all going to be Héctor/Imelda/Coco stories, but that's just how the alphabet order is working out. Don't worry, other characters will be included._

* * *

"Mamá! Mamá!"

Imelda looked down at the tugging at her dress to find her three-year-old daughter looking hopefully up at her.

"What is it, Coco?" Imelda asked her.

"I want some _caramelos!"_ Coco declared.

Imelda shook her head. "No, Coco. Supper is in a couple hours and you won't be hungry if you are filled up on sweets."

Coco stuck out her bottom lip in a large pout. "But, Mamá..."

"No, Coco," Imelda said firmly, "You can have some later."

Coco's pout deepened into a frown. She slumped into the center of the room and plopped face first right down in the middle of the floor with her limbs sprawled out in every direction. Imelda shook her head as she began to wail incessantly.

"Now, Coco, is this how you get what you want?" she asked the moaning and groaning heap on the floor.

Coco did not answer and instead continued to cry her crocodile tears into the floor boards. Imelda shook her head again. " _¡Ay, mija!"_ Imelda said attempting to keep exasperation out of her voice, "You can go ahead and cry all you want, but you cannot have any _caramelos_ before supper."

Coco only wailed more at this statement. Imelda sighed and turned away from her daughter. It was best to leave her to her tantrum. She went into the next room to begin folding laundry she had just pulled off the line. However, just as she was pulling the second shirt from the basket, she heard a mournful groan from behind her. She turned and found Coco had followed her and was now sprawled out on the ground right behind her, crying at the ceiling. Imelda rolled her eyes. Children sometimes. But she refused to give in and she continued to fold the laundry, pretending not to notice Coco's unhappy noises.

Coco followed her all through the house as she went about her chores, crying and moaning all the while. This child was unbearably stubborn. Imelda was so sure that she would give up eventually and find interest in something else. However, the child remained firm in her resolve in wearing Imelda down and letting her know how unhappy she was. No, Imelda would not give in. If she gave in this one time, then she would show weakness and Coco would know that she could weasel anything out of her by being unpleasant.

After over an hour of Coco's unpleasantries, Imelda had begun preparing supper. She continued to ignore Coco on the ground still groaning. Suddenly, she heard the front door open. Héctor was home. Finally! Perhaps he could distract Coco for a while. He had such a way of taking her mind off things that were bothering her and Imelda wished she knew his secret. As much as Coco loved her mother, she had this sort of connection with her father. They were inseparable; two peas in a pod.

Héctor entered the room and seeing Coco sprawled out on the floor, he looked at Imelda questioningly. Imelda shook her head as if to say "It's been one of those days."

Héctor approached Coco on the floor and poked her in the side. She gave a giggle, but then turned it back into a groan. She stubbornly refused to be happy. She really wanted those _caramelos_. "Coco," Héctor said to her, "What's wrong, _mija?"_

Coco only whined in response. Imelda sighed and answered for her. "I told her she couldn't have any sweets before supper."

"Oh no," Héctor said as he leaned closer to his young daughter, "Well that's just not fair, is it?"

"Nooo!" Coco cried, her crocodile tears had returned. She grabbed onto her father's leg and sobbed.

Imelda put her hands on her hips and eyed Héctor carefully. Héctor patted Coco on the head. "Now you know your mamá is just trying to help you right?"

"Nooo!" Coco cried again, shaking her head, "She's not!"

"Oh yes she is," Héctor said, "You know if you eat _caramelos_ before your supper, you won't be able to eat your regular food. And if you don't eat your regular food, do you know what happens?"

Coco rubbed at her eyes and shook her head. Héctor raised his eyebrows dramatically. "You won't get any bigger!" he announced with a gasp, "Now don't you want to get big and strong like your mamá and papá?"

Coco thought about this for a moment then she nodded. " _Sí,"_ she replied.

" _Sí,"_ Héctor said with a nod, "Your mamá knows that if you eat _caramelos_ before regular food, you'll just end up a fat _chancho!"_

He poked at her tummy and she giggled. "No! No _chancho!"_ she cried. Then she wrapped her small arms around his neck, still giggling.

"Hey, why don't you come with me into town and you can pick out a _caramelo_ to eat _after_ supper," he said the last two words while looking at Imelda. She raised her eyebrows at him.

Coco's face lit up at the suggestion. _"¡Sí!"_ she cried happily and kissed his cheek.

Imelda supposed there was no harm in letting Héctor buy her a sweet to eat after supper. She seemed to have a firmer understanding of why Imelda did not allow her to eat them before supper so... "Alright," Imelda told them, "But don't take too long."

Coco gave a squeal of delight and kissed Héctor again. Héctor smiled and scooped her up in his arms. He then kissed Imelda on the cheek. "Be right back," he said.

Imelda allowed a small smile to slip. "Thank you," she said.

He winked at her and left the house once more. Imelda sighed and went back to preparing the food. What was she going to do with those two?

They were not gone very long and they soon returned with a small bag. Imelda was just finishing up. "What did you buy?" Imelda asked.

"Chocolate!" Coco declared.

Imelda nodded. "Very nice," she said, "Your papá is very kind to you. Did you thank him for the special treat?"

Coco hugged Héctor tightly. " _Gracias, Papá,"_ she said sweetly.

Héctor patted her head affectionately. "Just remember to eat them after supper," he said, winking.

Little did Imelda know that both of them had already snuck a piece of chocolate on the walk back from the market. "Don't tell, mamá," Héctor had said, popping it into his mouth, "Just one piece won't turn you into a _chacho._ "

"No, _chancho_ ," Coco agreed, also eating a piece.

And Imelda never did find out.


	4. Dead

"Hey! Be careful with your end!" a stagehand yelled to a fellow worker as the giant overhead light balanced between the two of their skeletal arms teetered precariously, "Do you want Señor Limón to come out here and find it broken?"

The other stagehand rolled his eyes. "Well if you would stop going so slow..."

"I'm just making sure we don't drop it!"

"You're being too paranoid as usual!"

Héctor watched the spectacle from his seat in the auditorium, amused. All the stagehands always bickered whenever a performance was close. Stress levels were always high and the air was so thick with tension that everyone snapped at the smallest thing. He remembered the feeling from so long ago, back when he used to perform with Ernesto... back when he was alive.

Héctor tapped his bone fingers together as he watched the two stagehands disappear behind the curtain, still bickering all the while. He then turned his attention to his skeletal hands, listening to the clicking sound they made as he drummed them together. He had not been dead for very long, only a year or so, and he was still getting used to the idea.

Every year on _Dia de los Muertos_ , the dead got to cross over into the living world to visit their relatives. Héctor had already tried crossing the first _Dia de los Muertos_ after he had died, but was denied crossing. "Sorry," the customs officer had said, "Seems that no one has put up your photo."

Héctor had been discouraged, but decided that he would try again next year either because 1) Imelda did not know that he had died ( _Dia de los Muertos_ was still very soon after his passing) or 2) Imelda _did_ know and was still angry with him for leaving so had not yet put up his photo merely out of spite. Héctor figured it was most likely the second option because why wouldn't Ernesto tell his wife that he had died? Surely, she must know by now and was only being stubborn like she always was. Eventually, she would soften and forgive him, right?

She _had_ been very angry with him when he left though. She would not even kiss him goodbye and he had to resort to kissing her on the cheek. He tried to tell her that he would write her and Coco every day and that he was only doing this for them, but she would have none of it. "You are abandoning your family," she had said. She made it sound so dramatic. He hadn't meant to abandon them, he always meant to come back eventually. He didn't really have a clear plan. He thought maybe after a couple months, he would come home and visit before heading out again, then after a couple more months, he'd come home again. It was only a test run. If he and Ernesto made it big and became famous, then they'd go from there. All he wanted was to make a good living for his family while doing something he loved, playing music.

However, after only a few months on the road with Ernesto, he found that traveling lost its appeal and he missed his family. He missed his wife and her loving embrace, he missed Coco and her sweet laughter. He just wanted to go home... but it never happened. He just ended up dead somehow.

"Hey, Héctor! Is that you?"

Héctor turned his head and spotted some of the musicians coming out of the pit, finished with their rehearsal. Héctor gave a slight wave. "Hey, _musicos!"_ he called to them.

Another musician popped her head out of the pit. "Are you here again?"

Héctor shrugged. "I like this place. It's funny to hear all you guys try to pull together a show."

One of the musicians scoffed. "Oh please, you wouldn't know real art if it was staring you right in the face."

Héctor shrugged. "You're probably right, but that's not what your wife said last night."

All the other musicians laughed and Héctor placed his hands behind his head smugly. The musician Héctor had taunted eventually grinned. "You're funny, _amigo_ ," he said, "Come with us, we're all getting drinks."

Héctor shrugged again then jumped to his feet and followed after them.

Their definition of "getting drinks" was sitting backstage with one giant bottle of tequila and passing it around while taking turns individually taking a swig from it. Héctor didn't hesitate to join in and sat down between the musician he had teased and a female trumpet player.

After a couple rounds of passing the tequila. One of the musicians, a cello player, asked Héctor, "So what's your story, amigo?"

"Eh?" Héctor asked, wiping tequila off his chin.

"Your story," the musician repeated, "How did you wind up here?"

"In the theater?" Héctor wondered.

"No, in the Land of the Dead," another musician piped in.

Héctor raised an eyebrow. "You're asking how I died?"

All the musicians nodded. "Sí," the trumpet player beside him said, "We all know how each other died. Like Andrés over there, he got run over by a carriage."

A skeleton sitting across from them waved and flashed a crooked smile. "I wasn't watching where I was going," he said simply.

"And Bianca, Paula, and Rodrigo all died of old age," the trumpet player said, gesturing to each person in turn. She looked at Héctor for a moment, "Which if I had to guess, that's not what you died of."

"No−" Héctor began, but she continued.

"Gustavo over there, he got stabbed by a mugger."

The viola player, Gustavo, puffed out his chest proudly, "The only way to go, if you ask me."

"What about you?" Héctor asked the trumpet player.

"Me?" she asked airily, "I was strangled by my husband so he could marry his mistress."

Héctor's eyes widened. She shrugged casually. "It's no big deal. I have a better life here in the Land of the Dead than I ever would have had with him anyway."

Rodrigo, who was currently holding the bottle of tequila, raised it to her. "May Isabel's death be greater than _his_ life and may his new wife forever make him miserable."

" _Salud!"_ everyone shouted, raising imaginary glasses.

"So what about you?" the trumpet player, Isabel, asked Héctor, "What's your story?"

Héctor scratched his head. He really was not sure. He had gone over the scenario a million times already. He remembered walking to the train station with Ernesto, his guitar and suitcase in hand, ready to finally go back home. They were halfway there when he suddenly felt an intense pain in his stomach. It was so fierce that he had to stop walking and keel over. He was convinced he had eaten something rotten to cause such a ruckus inside him, but what could it have been? Ernesto had even verbalized his thoughts, "Perhaps it was the chorizo, my friend."

The pain became even more intense and he ended up collapsing into the dirt, blinded by the pain as it spread through the rest of his body. It was like it was pulsing through his very veins. He finally closed his eyes and blacked out. The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes, the pain was gone, but he was no longer in the middle of the street with Ernesto. He was somewhere dark and quiet and completely alone. As he looked around for his suitcase and guitar, he found nothing. It seemed like there was nothing for miles around him, simply black emptiness. When he reached out in front of him to feel around in the darkness, he saw his hand and he fell back in shock. It was completely devoid of all skin, muscle, and everything; only bone was left. He turned it over a couple times, inspecting it and then began running his hands over the rest of his body; all bone, all skeleton. He was dead!

An alebrije eventually came and escorted him out of the blackness to the Land of the Dead where he ended up just wandering around aimlessly for days, trying to come to terms with this new development. How had this happened? _How had this happened?_

He still wasn't sure. Bad luck certainly was to blame and maybe... bad food? That was all he could remember right before he died. Intense pain in his stomach. He must've eaten something so rotten that it killed him. What were the chances? He had to be the most unlucky man who ever lived.

"Well?" Isabel pressed him.

Héctor sighed. "I uh... well, funny story," he said, "I'm not really sure how I died."

"What?" Andrés said with a laugh, "People don't just die spontaneously! You have to know what happened."

"Were you sick?" Isabel pressed.

"No," Héctor replied, straightening up, "I was at the peak of health."

"Did you have an accident?" Paula wondered.

"No. I don't think so," Héctor replied, "I was just walking with my friend. We were all alone."

"Were you... killed?" Rodrigo suggested, throwing a quick glance at Isabel as he said it.

"What? No! I was with my best friend and didn't even touch me," Héctor stated defensively.

"So what? You just fell over and died for no reason?" Bianca asked in disbelief.

"Well no, not exactly," Héctor admitted, "I think I just ate some bad chorizo and..."

Gustavo let out a laugh. "Chorizo?" he repeated, still smirking, "You died because of _chorizo?"_

"Yeah, but..." Héctor was cut off by Gustavo's laughter.

"So you're telling me that you choked on some _chorizo?"_ Gustavo asked through his laughter. Some of the others were joining in with his laughing.

Héctor glared at him. "I didn't choke! I got a pain in my stomach and−"

Now all the musicians were laughing. "Chorizo! Oh! Ha! Hoo! Chorizo, that's funny! Ha!" they were chortling.

Héctor scowled at all of them. "It was food poisoning!" he shouted over their laughter.

This only spurred on their heckles. "Food poisoning FROM CHORIZO!" they declared loudly, practically rolling on the ground.

Héctor stood up and placed his hat on his head defiantly. "I hope you guys choke on your laughter," he said in annoyance.

They simply continued to cackle, wiping at their eyes and clutching at their sides, "Death by chorizo! Oh that kills me!" Héctor shook his head and stomped away, their laughter fading away as he did so. Bah! These uptight musicians. Who needs them anyway?

 _Death by chorizo._ Their words echoed in his head as he walked down the street. Héctor shook his head. They were right, what a sad way to go. He kicked at nothing as he continued to walk. He really was the most unlucky guy who ever lived.


	5. Ernesto

Miguel grew up in a family of shoemakers. It was all he really knew. He would wake up every morning to the sound of his family in the workshop; hammers clanging, sewing machines whirring, brushes scraping against leather and suede, and so many other things. Miguel didn't participate in the making of shoes yet− he was only seven years old− but that didn't mean he was exempt from his family's rules and traditions.

Whenever he was in the workshop, his parents, his abuelita, his tios and tias, _everyone_ wasted no time in showing him what they were doing.

"See, Miguel," his papá would say, "If you loop the stitch through like this, the string doesn't get caught and you won't have to start over. Saves so much time."

Or his Tio Berto: "And by using these pliers, you'll be able to fold the leather back so that you can cut it at just the right angle."

Or his mamá: "See how this brush leaves no scratches against the suede? That's why we use this one instead of the bigger one. We use that one for the leather."

His abuelita was the most persistent: "Miguel, you must pay attention! One day, you will join us in the workshop and carry on the family tradition. Now watch carefully how I punch the holes here..."

Miguel silently watched and listened as his family lectured and instructed. It wasn't that he hated the idea of making shoes, it was just that... he felt like he should be doing something else, something more meaningful. Every time he tried expressing this feeling to his family, they would immediately shut him down, "making shoes _IS_ meaningful! What would people do without shoes? Walk around barefoot!"

Miguel could only talk about his feelings to his great-grandmother, Mamá Coco. She sat in her wheelchair, never saying or doing much, but she would smile and smack her lips whenever Miguel was around. She used to respond more when Miguel was younger, but over the years, she had started losing function of her limbs as well as her mind. Miguel still liked to talk to her even if she couldn't really talk back.

"Mamá Coco," he said to her one day, "Did you like making shoes when you were younger?"

She didn't respond as usual, so he only continued, "I mean, I guess it's fine and I know it's a family tradition." He began to pace back and forth, waving his hands around for emphasis. "I know how your mamá started up the business all by herself. I should be proud to be a shoemaker, but... I just feel like there's something else out there for me. Something amazing, you know?"

Mamá Coco looked towards him, though she seemed to be looking more through him than directly at him. "Hmm..." she hummed with a dreamy smile, "Dancing."

Miguel wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. Another tradition in his family was that music was absolutely prohibited, therefore, there was no dancing. Miguel had never really heard a proper song before. He heard some distant singing from the nearby plaza sometimes, but his abuelita would always hurriedly slam the window shut. He had never gone there to investigate since his family had forbidden him from going anywhere without them and _they_ certainly never went to the plaza. However, every time he heard the music drifting through the night, he felt drawn to it. He kept this to himself though because he knew how his family would react if they found out he wanted to hear music.

He looked at Mamá Coco, curiously. Was she trying to tell him something? He had heard his family muttering about the plaza, how there was singing and dancing (and how horrible it was). Was Mamá Coco trying to tell him to go find the dancing? Was that the amazing thing he should be seeking?

* * *

The next day, Miguel peeked into the workshop and saw his family hard at work as usual. None of them paid him any attention. He poked his head inside and called, "I'm going down the street to Alejandro's."

His mamá stopped what she was doing and looked at him curiously. "Alejandro?"

Miguel nodded. "He's from school."

Now both his parents were looking at him. "A friend?" his papá wondered.

" _Sí_ ," Miguel replied, "I'll only be gone a little bit."

His parents glanced at each other, apparently thinking it over. "It's just down the street, you say?" his mamá asked.

" _Sí._ "

His mamá finally nodded. "Alright, but be back by lunch."

Miguel beamed. " _¡Gracias!_ Love you! Bye!"

He ran out the door, leaving his family to their work. He was not actually going to a friend's house, though there was a kid in his class named Alejandro who lived down the street. He planned on visiting the plaza. He hated lying to his family, but he knew there was no way his family would willingly let him go there.

As he made his way towards the outer gate, he looked at the sign which read "Rivera Familia de Zapatos" and took a deep breath. He had never ventured into town alone before. He straightened up and stepped out. He could do this!

The plaza was surprisingly close to his home. To think he had spent all this time living so close to music without realizing it. As he got closer, the tune of guitars, violins, trumpets, and other instruments reached his ears. The sound filled Miguel with an immense euphoria that he had never felt before. He had never been so close to music before. He looked around for the source and spotted a group of men in matching outfits up on the stage, playing together. Miguel rushed over.

He watched them, entranced by their movements. The guitar player was singing and Miguel followed his finger motions across the strings. Miguel had never seen such a miraculous thing in his life. Why in the world was music banned from his family? They told him time and time again that it was evil and brought misfortune to them. But listening to the beautiful melody now, Miguel simply could not believe that.

He had heard his great-great-grandmother Imelda's story more times than he could count; about how her good-for-nothing musician husband had walked out on her and her daughter Coco, so she banned music from her life and started the shoe shop. Music tore the family apart, but shoes held them together. That was why it was Miguel's responsibility to make shoes and hate music.

But music couldn't be _THAT_ bad, could it? Listening to it now, Miguel was filled with more joy than he ever felt listening to his family's lectures in the workshop. He was convinced that even _making_ shoes would never bring him the same feeling.

"...And over here, is where the esteemed songwriter and performer Ernesto de la Cruz got his start," Miguel heard a voice behind him.

He turned and saw a small group of people with cameras following an official-looking woman. Miguel had heard "songwriter" and was immediately interested. He joined the group. The woman continued with her lecture, "The young Ernesto spent his youth here in this very town of Santa Cecilia where he wrote some of his earliest songs. He performed in this very plaza as these gentlemen are." She gestured to the men on stage. "It wasn't long before his talent was discovered and he was soon performing all throughout Mexico. He only had to play one note of music and people fell in love with him. You may recall some of his most famous songs like "Remember Me"?"

The crowd began muttering their excited agreement. Miguel had no idea what the woman was talking about. "Ernesto de la Cruz claimed he wrote "Remember Me" with a specific girl in mind, though he never said who it was. It is still acclaimed as one of the most romantic and beloved songs of all-time."

The crowd again muttered their agreement. The woman continued, "Many scenes from his movies were based around his life here in Santa Cecilia. You may recall the famous de la Cruz movie "El Camino al la Casa"? Well, Ernesto claims that the villainous Don Hidalgo was based on someone he knew here."

A few people gasped and muttered amongst themselves, speculating on who it could've been. Miguel still had no idea what the woman was talking about. She began moving around the stage. "If you will follow me, we can observe his monument."

Miguel and the crowd followed the woman to the other side of the stage where they beheld a large bronze statue of a smiling man holding a guitar. Miguel gazed up at it, intrigued. "After his untimely death in 1942 when he was crushed by a bell during one of his performances in Mexico City, a statue was erected here in his hometown to commemorate him," the woman explained, "Underneath it you will find his most famous quote."

Miguel read it. "Seize your moment!" it said.

"Ernesto was famous for his proactivity," the woman stated, "His entire story is summed up into this one quote: "seize your moment." He never let anybody hold him down and eventually, he became the world's most beloved musician."

Miguel gazed up into the statue's face in awe. He never let anyone hold him down.

"You can find all his albums and merchandise sold in shops here in Mariachi Plaza," the woman announced, gesturing to some of the shops surrounding them.

Miguel instantly turned around, immediately interested. As she had been describing this famous musician's life, Miguel became more and more intrigued by him. He sounded _amazing!_ He wrote music, he starred in movies, he was famous... Miguel wished he could hear some of his music.

He backed away from the crowd as they followed the woman down the road. He headed towards the nearest shop and entered. The interior was brightly lit and Miguel saw several tables covered in all sorts of stuff. The walls were decorated with posters with the face of a grinning man posing with a guitar plastered all over them. Miguel recognized him as the statue man, Ernesto de la Cruz. Little wooden figurines were lined up on one of the tables near him. Miguel stooped over so he could inspect the painted faces of the little Ernesto de la Cruzes. He looked around the rest of the shop, admiring the different dolls, puppets, t-shirts, mugs, stickers, shot glasses, magnets, and throw pillows. He finally came across a stack of albums in the back of the shop. They looked like vintage records, each one had Ernesto grinning confidently at him and holding his guitar proudly.

Miguel reached out and picked up the nearest album labeled "Remember Me." He looked closely at the guitar in his hands and was instantly enthralled. It was pearl white and shiny with small skull-like emblems painted on it. Miguel had never seen such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. He hadn't noticed on the statue, but the handle was carved into the shape of a skull which only made it that much cooler.

"Can I help you, _muchacho?"_ came a voice from behind.

Miguel turned around to find an old man in an oversized poncho standing behind him. Miguel looked at the album in his hand and then held it out to the man. "Could I listen to this?" he wondered.

"You gotta buy it first, then you can listen to it," the old man replied.

Miguel sighed, dejected, and nodded in acceptance. His family would never give him money to buy a music album and he definitely didn't have his own money. " _Sí_ ," he said sadly to the old man, " _Gracias._ "

He set the album back in its place and began to slump his way back to the door. The old man called after him, "Hold on a minute, _muchacho_. Didn't you want the album?"

Miguel shook his head. "I don't have any money."

"Can't your parents help?"

Miguel shook his head again. "They wouldn't want me to have that," he said, pointing to the album, "They don't like music."

"Don't like music?" the old man repeated. He peered at Miguel. "You're one of the Riveras aren't you?"

Miguel nodded, surprised that the old man knew who he was. The old man nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I know about your family," he explained, "They make the best shoes." He held up his foot, displaying his boot. "Never get blisters. But I've always wondered about their hatred of music."

Miguel only shrugged. "It's just how it is," he replied, a little downtrodden.

The old man was now looking at him with pity in his eyes. He took the album from off the shelf and walked over behind the counter. "I think maybe we can listen to at least one song," he said as he removed the record from its pouch and placed it onto an ancient-looking phonograph.

Miguel brightened up and hurried over to the counter. The old man set the needle in its place and after a few scratchy turns, an upbeat guitar began to play. Miguel was instantly entranced by the melody and he leaned forward over the counter so he could hear better. Soon, Ernesto de la Cruz began to sing in a deep, rich voice:

 _"Remember me  
Though I have to say goodbye  
Remember me  
Don't let it make you cry  
For even if I'm far away  
I hold you in my heart  
I sing a secret song to you  
Each night we are apart_

 _Remember me  
Though I have to travel far  
Remember me  
Each time you hear a sad guitar  
Know that I'm with you  
The only way that I can be  
Until you're in my arms again  
Remember me!"_

Miguel was hypnotized by the song and the old man chuckled at his delighted expression. " _Muy buneo_ , eh?" he remarked.

Miguel nodded, grinning. Not that he was an expert on music or anything, but that song was amazing! There was something about it that just spoke to him. Every single note, every single lyric had such meaning and passion behind it, Miguel could tell. He looked at the cover of the album at de la Cruz's wide grin and tried to imagine him singing it to a large crowd of cheering fans. It must have been incredible to have seen him perform.

Miguel ran a hand over the picture of the guitar on the album cover. He suddenly wished that _he_ could play the guitar just like Ernesto de la Cruz. It would be so cool if he could play, sing, and travel the world like him. Just listening to the song just then, he had felt this connection, this inspiration that he was meant to play music. _This_ was his calling!

The old man noticed Miguel looking at the guitar on the album. "You know, if you go to the cemetery, you can visit his sepulcher," he stated, "His actual guitar is on display there."

He did not have to say anything more because Miguel was suddenly shoving the album into his hands, thanking him, and running out the door. The old man only chuckled as he disappeared.

Miguel hurried to the cemetery as fast as his legs could carry him. He had been past there a couple times while out with members of his family. It did not take him long to get there; Santa Cecilia was a small town.

Once he reached the cemetery, he hopped over the small fence surrounding the area. It was not difficult to find his target: A large white marble mausoleum stood erect in the very center. Miguel made his way over to it.

A stone bust of Ernesto de la Cruz was carved over the door with the words "Remember Me" engraved underneath. Miguel momentarily admired the handsome face of the musician before moving closer to the door and peering inside.

Against the opposite wall was the coffin itself; white marble like everything else. Above it hung a detailed oil painting of Ernesto de la Cruz. Even his painting looked at Miguel with such intensity and fire. However, the object of Miguel's curiosity was right below the painting: the pearl-white guitar with the skull handle. It was ornately displayed on the wall, forever preserved, never to be played again. It just sat there, glinting in the sun shining through the window.

Miguel could just imagine the great de la Cruz holding it with his magical hands. He had pleased so many for years with that instrument. How did he do it? He started out playing in Santa Cecilia but managed to captivate everyone with his amazing talent and fantastic songs.

Well, if Ernesto de la Cruz could learn to play music in Santa Cecilia, then maybe Miguel could too. All that was stopping him was his family, but surely he could find a way around that. He could show them that music wasn't so bad. Maybe if _he_ played music, they would see. All he had to do was learn how to play the guitar.

With this new idea in mind, Miguel smiled at the guitar inside the crypt. " _Gracias_ , Señor de la Cruz," he said through the door, "I think I found what I was looking for."


	6. Friends

Ernesto and Héctor were best friends.

Héctor could not remember a time when Ernesto was not around. He had been there almost as long as he could remember. They met one day in Mariachi Plaza when Héctor was only five years old. Héctor had spotted him sitting alone to the side of the stage, holding a guitar but not playing it. Héctor had been fascinated by the guitar in his hands, so he slipped away from his abuela, who was busy, and approached the older boy.

"Are you a mariachi?" Héctor had asked.

Ernesto scoffed. "No. My papá is."

Héctor was still entranced by the guitar. "Can I see?"

Ernesto held the instrument away from him. "No! If my papá realized that I let it out of my sight, he'd kill me!"

Héctor hung his head. "Oh, okay. I just never held a guitar before."

Ernesto peered at the small child before him. He was only a few years younger than himself, but seeing his lip quiver made him suddenly seem so much younger; like a whimpering baby. Ernesto sighed, softened at the sight. "Alright, I'll let you hold it, but just for a minute before my papá gets here."

Héctor's face lit up and he eagerly extended his small hands. Ernesto anxiously looked around the plaza before handing over the brazen instrument. Héctor gazed at it in his hands as though he had never seen anything more remarkable. Then, without warning, he ran his fingers over the stings in an ear-shattering chord.

Ernesto clutched at his ears. " _¡Ay!"_ he cried, snatching the guitar back, "I told you just to hold it!"

"Sorry," Héctor said sheepishly, "I just wanted to try it. I think it would be cool to learn how to play."

Ernesto glanced at the kid beside him and noted the innocent sincerity in his eyes. It was almost laughable how eager he was. Ernesto looked at the guitar. It _was_ sort of cool, he supposed. It was just growing up with a mariachi for a father, he never really thought about it. Especially when his father was...

"I'll tell you what, amigo..." Ernesto said, "...I'll teach you something while we wait for my papá."

Héctor looked beyond pleased, he looked ecstatic. "Really!?"

" _Sí,_ " Ernesto replied, "But keep in mind, you won't be as good as the mariachis right away."

Héctor nodded, only half listening. He was just excited that someone was willing to show him how to play the guitar. Ernesto knelt down and held the guitar so that Héctor could see. "Now there are several different chords," he explained, "When you combine the chords together, you get a song."

Héctor nodded, completely engaged with every word he was saying. Ernesto continued, "I'll teach you the A chord first."

Ernesto carefully placed his fingers on certain strings on the handle and then ran his other hand over the strings, resulting in a perfect A-chord. Héctor grinned and clapped. "Can I try?"

Ernesto handed it over and Héctor held it carefully. Ernesto pointed."Now, you put your fingers here and..." Héctor was already positioning his fingers properly, surprising Ernesto. He shrugged and gestured for Héctor to play. Héctor did so and his chord was nearly perfect. Ernesto hardly knew what to say.

"Wow, you did it," Ernesto stated, "But I think one of your fingers was a little off." He checked. " _Sí,_ your pointer finger is on two strings."

Héctor readjusted and tried again. The chord was perfect. Héctor grinned proudly. Ernesto cleared his throat. "Well, uh... that was an easy chord," he said, "Why don't you try a D-chord?"

Ernesto demonstrated and then handed over the guitar. Just like before, Héctor perfectly imitated it. Then again with the G-chord. Ernesto was baffled. "I thought you said you'd never played before."

"I haven't," Héctor replied.

"Then how are you getting this so fast?"

Héctor shrugged. "You're a good teacher."

Ernesto peered at him. Normally, he'd assume that was a sarcastic comment, attempting to flatter him and get on his good side. However, the boy seemed completely genuine. He really thought he was doing so well because of Ernesto not because of any natural talent of his own. Huh.

Ernesto offered a smile. "I guess I am," he said, "What did you say your name was?"

"Héctor."

"Nice to meet you, Héctor. I'm Ernesto." Ernesto shook the boy's hand. "Listen, Héctor. My papá's going to be back any minute and will want his guitar, but I can teach you the rest of the chords later if you want."

Héctor looked like his entire life had been made. "Really?"

"Sure," Ernesto said, winking, "You just stop by here tomorrow. I'll be here."

And that was how it started. Héctor met Ernesto every day in the plaza and Ernesto taught him how to play the guitar. It wasn't long before Héctor surpassed his teacher in skill and passion, but Héctor hardly noticed. He just enjoyed being in Ernesto's company. He didn't really have any other friends in town and Ernesto was the only one who consistently sought him out. Ernesto liked having Héctor around too, mostly because he praised the ground he walked on, but also because he actually seemed to genuinely like him as a person. They were both just sort of lonely people seeking love and acceptance.

Ernesto kept playing the guitar mainly to keep up with Héctor's growing skill. Soon, they were both better than the mariachis who came and performed in the plaza. Eventually, Héctor began _writing_ songs when he was about ten years old. When he presented his first song to Ernesto, Ernesto had been surprised and perplexed. He had never considered writing a song before. It was a short song about friendship, but everyone who heard it were enchanted by it. Even Ernesto had to admit it was a catchy, even sweet song.

After seeing what a hit Héctor's song was, Ernesto tried writing his own, but found it much more difficult than he thought. He could hardly get more than a few notes down. Plus, what was he supposed to write about? Words simply would not come. He decided to write a song about the sky, because it was pretty, right? After contemplating the subject for a good two hours, he came up with:

 _"Look at the sky,  
So pretty and high  
Wish I could fly  
Up in the sky  
Like a fly!"_

It was awful! Plus he didn't have a melody. He remembered once explaining to Héctor during one of their lessons that a song was a series of chords. But as he sat there, trying a combination of chords, he just couldn't find the right ones. He ended up giving up, deciding to devote his time to improving his playing and singing.

Héctor had no idea of his friend's struggle. He thought Ernesto was a great guitarist and singer; way better than himself. He thought himself simple and average while Ernesto fit the mold of all the great singers of the world. He had a deep, rich voice, charisma, and charm. He could easily lead a star's life. Héctor... he was a nobody with a soft voice.

Despite their initial jealousies of each other, they were dependent on one another and quite fond of the other. Over the years, Héctor frequently invited Ernesto to his home for dinner and Ernesto was more than happy to accept. He always stayed long hours and would often try to talk Héctor into letting him stay the night. At first, Héctor would send him off in good spirits, reassuring him that he would see him in the morning. However, after a while, Héctor began to realize that Ernesto's desire to stay went beyond his friendship with Héctor; there was something else going on.

Héctor noticed that Ernesto _never_ invited him over to his home. In fact, Héctor had never been over there at all. He had met Ernesto's father a couple times− the mariachi− but did not know much about him. Ernesto hardly spoke of him. Apparently he was away a lot performing with his band and whenever he was home, he was at the cantina. Héctor wondered... was Ernesto afraid of his father for some reason? Héctor suspected that was the reason for whenever the subject was brought up, Ernesto would quickly change the subject.

Héctor never asked Ernesto why he didn't want to go home, but whenever it seemed like Ernesto wanted to stay, he never turned him out.

Héctor, on the other hand, needed Ernesto just as much as Ernesto needed him. For Héctor was a lonely child. Ever since his parents died of smallpox when he was only two-years-old, people began tiptoeing around him like he would break any moment. He lived with his abuela who loved him, but was getting very old and was a bit senile. He became known as "that poor child whose parents died."

His friendship with Ernesto helped him find his feet again. He had someone to talk to, someone who shared the same passions as him, and someone who showed the world that he was not some poor fragile kid. Eventually, over the years, people began treating him like a normal kid again as they observed him playing in the plaza with Ernesto.

Héctor and Ernesto spent their days playing their guitars in Santa Cecilia and sometimes in neighboring towns for money. Ernesto tried teaching Héctor how to charm people into giving them more schmoozing. Héctor wasn't very good at it, but eventually Ernesto realized that Héctor had his own appeal. Héctor had this sort of goofy boyish charm while Ernesto had a more suave, gentlemanly charm. Héctor was better with the old ladies, kids, and mothers while Ernesto focused on the young ladies.

The two were inseparable. They got into all sorts of mischief. Héctor was usually the start of it; he had a knack for getting him (and anyone around him) into a jam. And Ernesto was often wrangled into whatever harebrained scheme he had cooked up.

Once, they wanted to visit the city, but they both needed a train ticket. They hardly had money for that. Héctor found out that children under the age of five rode for free, so he acquired a dress and baby carriage and somehow he convinced Ernesto to play the mother (Héctor's argument was that since Héctor was smaller, he could more easily fit in the carriage). They were caught almost immediately and chased away by security; Ernesto in drag and Héctor tripping over the carriage, his joints stiff from being stuffed inside for so long.

It took a while for Ernesto to forgive Héctor for that one, but after a couple years, he laughed about it. He did make Héctor promise to NEVER mention it to anyone else ever though.

Héctor did mention it to someone eventually... when _someone else_ entered his life.

Neither of them would've predicted it, but Héctor fell head over heels for one of the town girls, Imelda. At first, Ernesto was amused by it; he had never seen his friend trip over himself so much. He even gave Héctor some pointers on how to win her over (he had his fair share of flirtations through the years. Pretty much every girl in town had experienced a taste of Ernesto's charm. Imelda was an exception though. She was a little... rough around the edges. But for some reason, Héctor was smitten.)

At first, Ernesto figured Héctor and Imelda's relationship was nothing more than an infatuation. However, after three months and Héctor was still going on about her, Ernesto started to wonder if he'd ever tire of her. Finally, after four months, Ernesto saw them together one day and he observed them looking at each other. They smiled, they laughed and it was different than just a flirtation, it was something deeper. And Ernesto panicked.

His time with Héctor had already significantly decreased since Imelda entered their lives, but he brushed it aside, waiting for Héctor to move on... But what if he never did and Imelda was now a permanent fixture?

Ernesto had such plans! Long ago he realized that he couldn't write songs, he was just no good... but Héctor could. With Héctor's songs and Ernesto's talent, they could take on the world! Ernesto was tiring of Santa Cecilia and wanted to play elsewhere. He wanted to get out from under his father's thumb and show everyone what he could do. But there was no way he could pull it off without any original songs. When they were younger, both he and Héctor talked about going out and playing for the world, but had never seriously considered it. Now that they were older, Ernesto still thought about it constantly. Meanwhile, Héctor's mind was otherwise occupied with domestic-like things.

How would Ernesto ever convince Héctor to come with him if he was tied down in Santa Cecilia _by a woman?_

In spite of Ernesto's fears, Héctor and Imelda _did_ get married and Ernesto was Héctor's best man. Shortly thereafter, Imelda gave birth to a baby girl. It seemed to Ernesto that his dream of traveling the world would never come true. Héctor was so content with his new life.

Ernesto still came over frequently, though not as often as he used to (for his father had died). Imelda did not like him all that much, but she tolerated him for Héctor's sake. She thought he was a phony, putting on a face, trying to be more prodigious than he actually was.

Héctor and Ernesto still spent their days playing in Santa Cecilia and neighboring towns. They were growing more popular and Héctor wrote more songs as time passed.

After a couple years, Ernesto spotted his opportunity. One day, Héctor seemed a little out of spirits as he flipped through his little red songbook where he wrote down all his songs.

"What is wrong, _amigo?"_ Ernesto asked.

Héctor shrugged. "I just... I haven't been able to write any good songs lately."

"Really?" Ernesto asked, "Why do you think that is?"

Héctor shrugged again. "I don't know," he answered, sounding a little put out, "I just haven't felt very... inspired."

Ernesto nodded, considering. "What usually inspires you?"

"Anything, I guess," Héctor responded, "But especially beautiful things." He thought for a moments. "Whenever I feel strongly about something... that's when a song comes. It's like I can't contain it and I have to write it down."

"Hmm..." Ernesto said thoughtfully, "Have you considered that maybe you have written about everything you feel strongly about around here?"

Héctor looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do you feel strongly about? Your wife, your daughter, your home, friendship, life... all these things you have written a song about. And all these things are here in Santa Cecilia."

Héctor appeared to consider Ernesto's words carefully. "So what are you saying?" he wondered after a moment.

"I'm saying maybe you should get out of Santa Cecilia," Ernesto declared.

"I've left Santa Cecilia," Héctor pointed out, "Last week we went to San Luicia."

Ernesto rolled his eyes. "Going over to the next town is barely leaving Santa Cecilia, Héctor. I mean, we should travel the world!"

Héctor looked surprised at this suggestion. Even though they had discussed this in the past, neither of them had brought it up in years. "Travel?"

" _¡Sí, amigo!"_ Ernesto cried enthusiastically, "Imagine playing for huge crowds! So many people come to hear your songs, chanting our names!"

Héctor shook his head. "I don't think so, Ernesto. I couldn't just leave Imelda and Coco..."

Ernesto wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders. "No, Héctor, you would be doing this _for_ them! If we tour the world, we would make so much more money than just playing here. I know that the money we make from our gigs is barely enough to support myself. I can't imagine what it must be like to support a wife and daughter."

Ernesto saw Héctor's eyes shift uncomfortably at this assertion. Ernesto knew he had hit the mark, so he continued. "Just think, you can make a good living and support your family while doing something you love!" Simply to drill home his point, he tapped a finger to Héctor's head and added, "Plus, you may find that inspiration you're looking for."

It took a while for Héctor to come around, but after a couple more carefully placed comments from Ernesto, he eventually did. Imelda had been absolutely furious. She even confronted Ernesto about it and asked him to talk Héctor out of the idea. Ernesto simply told her that if Héctor wanted to go, he should. Thus, they left, bags and guitars in hand.

Héctor had been very mopey for the first week or so about his fight with Imelda, but Ernesto did his absolute best to get his mind off it by finding gigs and taking him out to every cantina he could find. He told him that by the time the money and fame came, Imelda would forgive him.

They toured for months, about half a year, before Héctor's yearning for his family finally overtook him and he decided to go home. However, Ernesto had become so hyped up on the fame. They were not _that_ famous, but whenever there were big crowds, Ernesto thrived. All his life, he had been yearning for acceptance and now he was getting it from huge groups of so many people; people who didn't even know him no less. He never thought it possible.

Now, Héctor wanted to go home and ruin everything. Ernesto simply could not let it happen. He had forgotten that Héctor was the first person who ever gave him that acceptance and only saw him as the one who was taking it away. He was no longer content with one person's love, but was hungry for thousands of people's; even if that one person's love was more genuine than those thousands.

Thus, Ernesto poisoned Héctor.

And Ernesto and the world became best friends.


	7. Guitar

Héctor's head was spinning. The past several hours had been such an uproarious blur, he hardly knew which way was up. The wedding itself had taken place that morning and had only lasted an hour at the most, but everything after that had been one giant nonstop fiesta. Music, dancing, laughter, speeches, alcohol... lots of alcohol, plus an endless supply of food. Héctor kept insisting that if he ate one more pork gordita, he would burst right out of his suit, but then it was time for the cake and he had to eat more.

Now the night was long gone and he suspected the sun would rise soon. The entire town had ushered him and Imelda to their recently purchased home, hooting and hollering all the way.

Héctor had attended his share of weddings in his life, but only as a hired musician. Once his contract ended around midnight, he left. Ernesto often stayed behind to drink and schmooze some lady, but Héctor was usually worn out and went home to bed. Tonight was the first time Héctor had stayed the entirety of the wedding, but only because it was his own. It was exhausting!

Now suddenly finding himself in the quietness of his new home, Imelda in the next room, the reality of what had just happened finally began to sink in. He was married. He was _married_. It was like he was living in a dream.

When Héctor began courting Imelda, marriage had always seemed like the logical step. Before that moment, he hadn't seen himself as the marrying type, but after he met Imelda, it made so much sense. However, now that they were actually married, it hardly seemed real.

Everything in his life changed after he met her. From that first moment she first agreed to go dancing with him (after pursuing her for such a long time), he began saving his money for their future. He knew immediately that she would eventually be his wife. He also knew he was not a rich man and could never provide an extravagant life, but he at least wanted to give her a comfortable one.

Fortunately, he already had been saving his money years before he met her; he had his eyes on this handcrafted guitar on display in the next town over. It was easily the most beautiful thing Héctor had ever seen; the wood was shiny, pearl-white and had a solid handle that was carved into the shape of a skull. Héctor had always been intrigued by the intricate artistry of it from the rose blooms painted on the base to the gold tooth on the skull handle. He went as often as he could just to admire the magnificent instrument and to make sure no one had bought it yet. Surprisingly, for the past five years since Héctor had begun saving, no one had taken it.

But all that was before he met Imelda. Suddenly, he had something in his life more beautiful, more valuable, and more important than a guitar. The one he currently had played music just fine. He decided he could live without it if he could make Imelda happy. Of course, that didn't mean, saying goodbye to the beautiful instrument was easy. After he made the decision to spend his guitar money on the new house instead, he visited the shop one last time to look at the guitar one last time and give himself final closure. However, when he got there, it was gone! The shop owner informed him that it had finally been purchased after all these years. Héctor had been severely disappointed not to see it one last time. He had hoped to at least hold it just once before parting with it forever.

Now he sat on the bed inside the house he had used that money on. He looked around, contemplating that choice. It was a small, very modest place. Ernesto had told him he should've found something better, but Imelda had declared that it was perfect. She told him she didn't need a lot and was happy with whatever he could get. Héctor believed her because she was not one to hold back her opinions.

At the moment, she was in the next room for... he was not entirely sure. As soon as their escorts/party guests had dropped them off and they were left alone, she turned to him, looking positively radiant in her wedding attire and told him to wait for her while she went in the next room. Now Héctor waited for her return, sitting patiently on the bed, his head pounding and ears ringing.

A throat suddenly cleared on the other side of the room. Imelda had returned. She stood in the door frame, no longer wearing her wedding frock, but a simple blue night dress that almost seemed to float around her small figure. Her dark hair, which had been previously knotted up into a fabulous plait with ribbons and flowers, now hung loose about her shoulders. She wore a small, demure smile. Héctor was entranced by her appearance.

"I have something for you," she said.

Héctor had no response except for a wordless nod.

She took a step forward. "Now, I know that you've worked hard so that we could get married," she began, "I mean, my papá's expectations have always been very high. He's a well-to-do man, but... you did good. You weren't exactly what my family thought you should be like a rich don or some important provider. You were a good man and you loved me. That was all I needed, so that was all my family needed."

Héctor was intrigued by her speech. Where was she going with this?

She continued, "But I know that you still had to make some sacrifices. We couldn't just get married without some sort of foundation. I was proud of you for proving to my father that you could provide for you wife. You bought this house!"

She gestured to their surroundings with one of her hands. "Now, I knew that your gigs don't pay _that_ well. So I wondered where this money came from."

Héctor shrugged. "I told you, I'd been saving over the years already."

Imelda waved a hand. "I know, I know. And I asked you what you had been saving for and you told me "nothing in particular. Just the future." Those were your exact words."

Héctor nodded. "Why are you telling me this?"

Imelda narrowed her eyes at him. "Because I don't like being lied to."

"What?" Héctor asked, surprised, "I didn't lie to you!"

"There you go again!" Imelda declared, waving her hands indignantly, turning her back on him, "And on our wedding night! Have you no shame?"

Héctor held out his hands towards his new wife desperately. "I don't know what to say, _mi amor!"_

"Hmm," Imelda replied with an indignant sniff. She continued her speech, her back still to him. "Well, after you gave me that answer about saving for nothing in particular, I felt that you were not being completely honest with me. So of course I went to the one person who knows everything about you besides me."

Héctor felt his heart drop into his stomach. Ernesto.

Imelda was smirking to herself. "Your partner is all bark, but no bite. Never believe him when he says he'll keep a secret. The minute I pulled my shoe on him, he was cowering like a _marica_." She raised a knowing eyebrow at Héctor over her shoulder. "He told me all about the guitar, Héctor."

Héctor slumped his shoulders in defeat. Imelda had turned around again, hands on her hips and an expectant look on her face. Héctor sighed. "I'm sorry, Imelda. I didn't mean to lie," he admitted, "I was saving for the guitar, but after I met you... I decided I could use that money for something more important."

Imelda tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "More important, eh?"

Héctor nodded, offering a smile. Imelda returned it and then asked, "What about the guitar?"

He shrugged as casually as possible. "I always figured I could start saving again and maybe get it later if it was still around. But... it's actually gone now." He sighed in disappointment.

Imelda peered at him, her hands still on her hips. "You really wanted that guitar, didn't you?"

"Well, I..." Héctor began, "It was nice, but I didn't _need_ it."

"How long had you been saving for it?" Imelda wondered.

"Five years."

Imelda stared at him, shocked. "You gave up five years of saving for that guitar for a life with me?"

Héctor stood up and approached her. "Of course," he responded, "Have you met you?"

Imelda giggled slightly. "Hmm, I guess you're right. I am pretty amazing."

Héctor took her hands into his. "Better than any old guitar."

He pulled her hands to his chest and then kissed her. It was not a long one, but it was full of as much love any of their longer, slower kisses. When they pulled back, Imelda smiled up at him. "How would you feel if you could have both me _and_ the guitar?"

Héctor raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Imelda bit her lip, still smiling. "Well, like I said before, you've done a lot and sacrificed so much for me. I thought it was about time I gave _you_ something."

She quickly shuffled into the other room. She soon appeared again this time holding something. Héctor froze as his eyes fell on with the very same skull guitar they had ben discussing cradled in her hands. Héctor stared dumbfounded at the polished white wood of the instrument, hardly believing his eyes.

"What? How did...? When...?" he stammered.

Imelda proudly held it out for him and he carefully reached a hand out to touch its smooth surface. It was the first time he was touching it. It was all too surreal.

"After Ernesto told me everything, I tracked down this instrument and decided to get it for you," Imelda explained, "It's my wedding gift to you."

Héctor did not know what to say. He was still admiring the guitar. It was even more spectacular up close. Imelda held it out to him. "Go on, did you want to hold it? Play it?"

Héctor smiled and took it from her arms. It felt so natural in his hands. He carefully positioned it, raised his hand, and then ran his fingers over the strings. A harsh chord rang through the air and Imelda's hands flew to her ears.

" _¡Ay!"_ she cried, "Maybe tune it first?"

Héctor sheepishly began tweaking the strings. He finally tested it again, this time a little more carefully. " _Perfecto_ ," he announced after hearing the crisp C-chord.

Imelda smiled proudly as Héctor began to pluck a little melody, testing it further. "You like it?" she asked after a moment, "Everything you hoped for?"

Héctor stopped playing and grinned goofily at her. "Even better," he stated happily, " _¡Gracias, mi amor!"_

He gently set the guitar down and stepped closer to Imelda, wrapping his arms around her. She looked up at him expectantly as he pulled her closer. "I have the best wife," he declared.

Imelda chuckled and wrapped her own arms around his neck. "And don't you forget it."

Then the gap was closed between them once again.


	8. Humming

_Wow, it's been a LONG time. I just graduated college, so maybe I'll have more time to write now with no papers and projects in the way. Hopefully I can finish all these stories I've left hanging for so long, starting with this one :)_

* * *

Miguel stuck his head out from his hiding place on the roof. He saw his abuelita march past, carrying an armful of spools of string. Miguel was not an official shoemaker yet, but his family didn't hesitate to educate him at every chance they got. He knew that the string wasn't for the laces like one would assume, but was for sewing the leather together into shapes and then the colored string was for stitching patterns.

Miguel watched his abuelita disappear around the corner into the shoe shop and once he was convinced no one else was coming, he crawled out of his hidden cavern in the roof and slid down to the ground.

None of his family knew where he snuck off to sometimes during the day. He had formed his own little fortress behind the giant sign on the roof advertising their business. And why should they? Miguel wasn't about to tell them about it because not only did he sometimes need a break from their constant talk of shoes, but he also had a big secret... he was teaching himself how to play the guitar.

To most people, this would not be a bad thing, in fact, they might be impressed. However, Miguel was unfortunate enough to be born into the one family in Mexico who hated music in any form. They hated it so much that they banished it from their lives completely and shouted at anybody who came near them singing or playing an instrument. Miguel would never forget the time he saw his abuelita scream and chase a young teenage boy down the street because he dared try to serenade Miguel's prima.

Thus, Miguel had to keep his love of music hidden. He could not imagine what his family would do if they found out he not only liked it, but was actually teaching himself to play.

He spent a little bit of time every day up in his hideout practicing and learning. He didn't have a lot to go on. At the moment, he didn't even have a real guitar. He had been using a broken one he found in the trash for a while until it completely fell apart. Now, he was working on reassembling it, but making it even better. He was going to recreate Ernesto de la Cruz's guitar!

Miguel was so fortunate to have discovered Ernesto de la Cruz because that was where he was learning most of his stuff. Over the past couple years, ever since he first heard music properly, he had attained as much music- in the form of records, tapes, videos, etc.- as possible. And since he lived in Santa Cecilia- the hometown of Ernesto de la Cruz, the greatest musician in Mexican history- most music Miguel came across belonged to him. Not that Miguel was complaining. De la Cruz was AMAZING!

In fact, Miguel had just gotten through listening to the famous musician's hit song "Remember Me" for the billionth time right before emerging from his hideout. He had a couple videos of some movies de la Cruz made in his prime and he sometimes tried to imitate his playing from those (it made it easier to see the finger movements). However, there was no film of him playing "Remember Me" which was the one song Miguel wished to play the most.

After listening to the song over and over, Miguel felt he was getting close to getting it right. He definitely knew the words backwards and forwards and the basic tune was easy enough, but the actual guitar part was more difficult to figure out.

After practicing it for almost an hour, Miguel decided to take a break. He would try again later.

Now, he strolled around the courtyard, hands in his pockets. He didn't come across any of his family as he walked and he figured they were all busy in the workshop. He did remember his Tio Berto mentioning something about a huge order coming in that morning.

Miguel didn't mind. He didn't really want to have a conversation about shoes just now anyway, not while he was still trying to figure out how to properly play "Remember Me".

He walked towards the house and entered through the side into the kitchen. A bowl of fruit sat on the table and he went to grab an apple. However, as he stepped forward, he heard a soft sigh.

Realizing he wasn't alone, Miguel whipped around in surprise. He came face to face with his Mama Coco who was sitting in her wheelchair in the corner, staring at the door that he had just entered. She wore an absent smile as she continued to watch the door.

Miguel relaxed and picked up the apple he had originally reached for and then walked over to his great-grandmother. " _Holá_ , Mama Coco!"

Mama Coco did not respond, but continued to stare at the door, almost as if she were expecting someone to come through it. Miguel sighed and pulled up a chair next to her. He bit into his apple and watched her.

"What are you looking at?" Miguel asked with a mouthful of apple.

Again, Mama Coco didn't say anything. Her smile widened and she leaned back in her chair. Miguel watched her curiously as she closed her eyes.

Then, she began making a noise. It was very quiet and for a moment, Miguel thought she might've just been groaning. But then, Miguel realized she was humming. Humming! An actual melody!

Miguel stood up and came around so that he stood right in front of her, his eyes alight. He always thought his entire family hated music. Hadn't her own mother been the one who started the banishment? Hadn't it been her own musician father who left them and forced everybody to start hating it in the first place? Miguel had figured out of anybody, Mama Coco should've been one who hated music the most like her mother did.

However, here she was now, humming and smiling. What would abuelita say?

Abuelita! If abuelita heard Mama Coco humming, maybe she would decide that music wasn't as bad as she thought. If Mama Coco didn't think it was so bad, then how bad could it be?

Miguel was just about to run out the door to go shout for his family when he froze. He recognized the melody. But wait...

Miguel turned back to Mama Coco. She was still sitting with her eyes closed and smiling. Miguel leaned closer to her. The tune escaping her lips was difficult to hear, but he could just make out the faintest hint of "Remember Me."

But how was that possible? It couldn't be. He must've heard wrong. But he couldn't have. Hadn't he just been listening to it on repeat? That melody was ingrained in his head forever. But how did Mama Coco know it?

Then an idea slipped into Miguel's head that made him smile. Maybe... Mama Coco had a secret just like him. Was it possible she too harbored a love for music and had hidden it all these years? After all, she had grown up when Ernesto de la Cruz was in his prime. What if she was a fan? What if she too had secretly stashed away records to listen to them when no one was around?

By now, Mama Coco had stopped humming and had resumed her usual blank stare into space, but Miguel didn't care. This new thought that he and one of his family members shared something in common invigorated him. He grinned and kissed Mama Coco on the cheek.

" _Gracias_ , Mama Coco," he said.

" _De nada_ , Felipe," she answered, not looking at him.

She thought Miguel was Tio Felipe, her own mother's brother... who had died a long time ago. But this didn't bother Miguel, he was too preoccupied with his new discovery.

If he could just somehow convince the rest of his family that music was a good thing. They would never believe him if he told them Mama Coco liked music, but maybe one day he could show them. He would find a way... somehow.


	9. Idiota

_This one's a longer piece. I had originally intended for this to be a full story, but then I wrote "Un Poco Loco" instead and scrapped this project. So here's it is, recrafted as a one-shot._

* * *

Imelda breathed deeply, attempting to control the emotions that raged in her chest; embarrassment, anger, disappointment, frustration. Why was she so bothered by this? She leaned against the wall and slowly slid down it until she was sitting on the ground.

She had run straight into this closet after she saw it- when she saw her prima Alicia and the don's son, Fernando wrapped up in a passionate embrace. She covered her face. She wasn't sure why it had upset her so much. She knew she didn't like Fernando, she had been doing her best to fend him off for weeks. She was just surprised to find him kissing her prima when she had been so convinced he had been after her this whole time. Alicia's words still rang in her ears, "he was only trying to get information about me from you." Why did that sting so much?

It really had not been her night. First, she had been forced to come to this party by Alicia where Imelda knew Fernando would be, then she ran into that doofy _musico_ and spilled tapatillo sauce all over her dress, now she was here in a dark closet pathetically fuming over the loss of a man she didn't even like. What else could possibly happen?

Suddenly the door swung open, startling her. Before she could do or say anything someone entered and slammed the door behind them. Imelda looked up and saw that it was the clumsy musician who had run into her earlier. He was squinting his eyes and peering through the crack in the door. He did not appear to notice her sitting on the floor and was instead focused on trying to see through the small opening between the door and the wall. Imelda observed his guitar slung over shoulder and a large tray of small cakes under his arm. She could hear footsteps rush past along with angry yelling about " _¡Musico de gilipollas!"_

"What are you doing in here?" Imelda asked flatly after a moment.

He jumped and nearly dropped the tray of cakes he was holding, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in the closet he had chosen as his hiding spot. He flipped around and spotted Imelda sitting on the floor. He relaxed at the sight of her and gave a quirky smile.

"I could ask you the same thing, _señorita_ ," he replied, "Playing hide and seek with someone? A lover maybe?"

She glared at him, not appreciating his cheekiness. "I was here first. I don't have to explain myself to you."

He smirked and turned back to the door, peering back through the crack. "I might have ehh... ticked off the cook," he admitted, sounding almost proud.

Imelda's eyes again fell on the tray he still held under his arm. "You went in the kitchen?" she asked disapprovingly.

He shrugged innocently. "I knew they were holding out on us," he said, "They told me they were all out of Tres Leches cakes. I asked one of the servers and they said they had run out two hours ago and didn't have ingredients to make more." He gave Imelda a significant look. "I _need_ my Tres Leches cake, _señorita_... uh, what did you say your name was?"

Imelda only glared at him, unimpressed and didn't answer. He grinned and proceeded. "Nice to meet you Señorita Frowny-face! I'm Héctor! Anyways, since I've been performing all night for these party guests, I haven't had a chance to try any of the food. Do you know how often I get to eat this kind of food? Not often and it takes a lot to keep up this figure."

He gestured to his spindly form, smiling at his own impudence. Imelda only glared harder. This musician, Héctor he called himself, continued with his longwinded story. "Tres Leches cakes are my favorite and I kept checking all night to see if there were any. I saw them at the beginning of the night and there was a huge stack, so I figured I was good to perform my gig. Then later I went to check and there were hardly any left! I couldn't eat any then because I was needed back on the stage, so I had to run back."

Imelda envisioned him running into her and spilling tamatillo salsa down her front. This story was getting more ridiculous by the second and she wasn't sure she could glare any harder at him. He carried on, completely unaware of her death stare.

"Now my partner and I are on a brief intermission, so I took the opportunity to visit the kitchen and ask about the cakes. They told me the same as the server did, they were all out. But once that fat lazy cook turned her back, I snuck in and found an entire tray just sitting there!" He held out his arms, scoffing. "So what was I supposed to do, Señorita Frowny-Face? That cook was hoarding the cakes! I'd been waiting all night to have one! So I grabbed the entire tray and booked it. And well... you know the rest."

Imelda shook her head, completely unimpressed. "You are easily the biggest _idiota_ I've ever met."

" _¡Gracias!"_ he responded proudly.

"No, not _"gracias"_ ," she mimicked him sternly, "How could you steal from from the kitchen?"

He looked confused. "I just told you."

Imelda rolled her eyes. "You can't just steal something because you want it. It's... it's wrong!"

Now he rolled his eyes. " _¡Ay!_ What was that cook going to do with these cakes? She lied to me and said she didn't have any. She was probably saving them for herself."

Imelda refused to listen to his protests. She stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "You have to return them."

"What? No way!"

"You have to! You dishonor this house by stealing from it."

Héctor wrinkled his nose at that. "What is it with you and this house?" He raised his eyebrows mischievously. "Oh, your lover that you're hiding from. Is he a member of the family? Is that why you're so defensive?"

Imelda flared up. "Absolutely not, impudent _burro!"_ In one swift motion, she whipped off her shoe and thrust it in between his eyes. He went cross-eyed, staring at it in surprise and horror. "If you don't return those cakes, I'll whack you so hard, you'll forget your own name," Imelda threatened.

Something in her face and tone must have convinced him that she really would do it because he looked longingly at the tray in his arms and sighed. "Fine," he said heavily, "But just know that it is completely humiliating."

"I'm coming with you," Imelda said.

"You don't have to babysit me. Don't you believe I'll return this on my own?"

"No," Imelda said flatly.

He rolled his eyes and went to open the door, but nothing happened. "Well, get going," Imelda said impatiently.

"I'm trying," Héctor said, turning the handle again. Still he did not exit. He shook at the handle a couple more times and then pressed against the door. Eventually he turned back to Imelda. "Well, I have some bad news, Señorita Frowny-Face... I'm afraid we're locked in."

"What!?" Imelda cried, shoving past him and trying the handle herself. It didn't move. She forcefully rammed into the door, but it didn't give way. No, no, no, no! She couldn't be locked in here, especially not with this _idiota!_ She began pounding against the door. "Help! Hello? Help! I'm stuck in the closet!"

She could hear the party even from inside the closet. At this realization, it dawned on her that with all that noise, there was no way anyone would be able to hear her cries. That did not stop her from trying though. "Help! Can anyone hear us!? Help!"

Héctor had taken to sitting on the ground and strumming aimlessly on his guitar. He'd already eaten one of the cakes. "Give it a rest," he said after nearly ten minutes of Imelda's yelling, "Someone will come eventually. You have family, right? They'll come looking for you. And me! I'm supposed to be playing on stage so my partner will come looking for me." He stuffed another cake into his mouth.

Imelda scowled at him. "If there's even the slightest chance that someone is passing by, I'm going to let them know we're here."

Héctor shrugged. "Whatever you say, Señorita Frowny-Face."

Imelda groaned in frustration. "Would you stop calling me that?"

"What?"

"My name is not 'Señorita Frowny-Face'!"

He licked some excess cream off one of his fingers. "Well you never told me what it actually was, therefore, you are Señorita−"

"It's Imelda. Now would you stop eating those cakes and maybe do something useful?"

He leaned back against the wall and began strumming on his guitar again. "I already told you, _Imelda_ ," he said her name pointedly, "you need to relax. Someone will come eventually."

Annoyance rose up in Imelda's chest and she went to retort, but decided he was not worth the effort. She instead began scanning the interior of the closet for something to pry the door of its hinges. She found an old broken closet rod and began to saw away at one of the hinges with it. Meanwhile, Héctor played a soulful tune and began to sing:

" _Two wandering travelers got stuck in a cave  
_ _The girl was so mad but the man was quite brave  
_ _The two sat through the night, crying a horrible way  
_ _And their friends found their bodies the very next day.  
_ _The very next day, oh the very next day  
_ _Their friends found their bodies the very next day."_

" _¡Ay! ¡Silencio!"_ Imelda yelled, rounding on him, holding the rod above her head like a weapon.

"Oh, cool off, _niña,_ " Héctor said, retreating backwards from her menacing stance, "You take everything so seriously. We're not going to die in here."

"I might if I have to listen to your singing any longer," Imelda growled.

He exaggerated offense. "What? You'll never hear better singing in your life! You are being treated to a real show."

Imelda groaned and turned back to the door. Héctor began plucking at the strings of his guitar again once her back was turned. Imelda rolled her eyes and stubbornly made an attempt to ignore it. " _Idiota_ ," she murmured to herself.

"Why are you so determined to get out of here anyway?" Héctor asked after a moment, "Was I right before? Is there a man?"

Imelda scoffed. "Why would you think that?"

"I can only chock up your fierce determination to love," Héctor replied simply.

Imelda glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Or maybe you're just so annoying that I can't stand to be in your company."

Héctor shrugged in agreement. "I guess so," he replied, "But after spending so much time with me, you must see how charming I really am."

Imelda scoffed again. "Please! You've done nothing but irritate me this whole time. At what point have you been charming?"

"I can be charming," Héctor insisted.

Imelda rolled her eyes and turned back to what she was doing. Héctor sat up straighter. "You don't believe me?"

Imelda tried focusing on prying off the hinge again and fazing his voice out. If she could just loosen the nail...

Suddenly, Héctor was standing right behind her. She turned, startled at his close proximity. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Once she was up, he didn't let go of her hand, but instead, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Imelda felt her cheeks flush in surprise. Before she could react beyond that, he waggled his eyebrows at her and said:

" _Mi flora bonita_ , your eyes are like the stars in the heavens! Just stand there and let me admire you." He stood back a little, still holding her hand, and looked her up and down. Imelda didn't know what to say, but did not have a chance to think of anything before he continued, "A masterpiece! God was truly showing off when he made you. You are intoxicating to be near! When I am with you, the only place I want to be is closer." Imelda's eyes grew wide as he stepped closer to her and took both her hands into his. "If I died and God asked me what I'd like to come back as, I'd say a tear. That way I could be born in your eyes, roll down your cheek, and die on your lips."

Imelda was dumbfounded. She had never heard such a speech before and certainly not one on her behalf. Héctor suddenly winked and released her hands. She stared at him blankly as he sat back down and picked up his guitar again as though nothing had happened.

"What was that?" she asked, regaining her composure.

Héctor shrugged. "Most of that I stole from my friend. He likes to flirt with girls and he's got all the lines, but−"

Imelda sat down on the ground across from him. "Which lines were yours?" she wondered.

Héctor scratched his head, thinking. "I don't know. What did I say? My heart was beating so loud, I could barely hear myself think."

Imelda wanted to laugh at the fact that he was just as embarrassed as herself. " _Idiota_ ," she muttered, but then she smirked and said, "You told me how you wished you could be reborn as a tear. Something like "if I died and God asked me what I could come back as, I'd say a tear; that way I could be born in your eyes, travel down your cheek, and die on your lips.""

Héctor nodded. "Oh yes... um, that one was me. Sorry, that was a little silly, wasn't it? I was just caught up in the moment."

Imelda had actually found it deeply poetic. "Actually... I kind of liked it," she admitted, a little embarrassed.

Héctor looked momentarily surprised, but then smiled at her appreciatively. He glanced around uncomfortably and then suddenly picked up one of the cakes on the platter. "Tres leche cake?" he offered her.

"I thought I made my opinion clear on eating stolen food," Imelda stated.

"Now hold on a second," Héctor said, "If I give it to you, it's a gift. Since I took it without permission from the kitchen, I am the one eating stolen food, but since I am giving it to you out of _my_ possession, it becomes a gift. Don't be a _cascarrabias_ and just take my gift."

Imelda smirked at his flawed logic, but she held out her hand and he dropped the sticky dessert into it. He picked up another one for himself and raised it up as if making a toast. "To our delicious gift," he said.

Imelda shook her head, but followed his gesture and then they both took a bite. Once each of their cakes were gone, Imelda found herself licking her fingers. It was un-ladylike, but she was eating cake in a closet with a thieving musician, so she felt proper propriety didn't really matter. Besides, she felt relaxed around Héctor; like she could be herself around him.

"So you never told me why you were in here," Héctor said after a moment.

"Hmm?" Imelda asked, finger in her mouth.

"Well, you know why _I_ ducked in here," Héctor said, "But you never said why you were in here. And in my experience, most people don't hang around in closets just for fun. So what's your story?"

Imelda eyed him carefully for a moment, but he was only looking at her with innocent sincerity. She softened at the look and sighed, picking up another cake without really thinking. "I was hiding from my prima and her... _suitor_." She said the word with such disdain that Héctor raised an eyebrow at it.

"They're that bad, eh?" he asked, "All over each other? In their own world?"

Imelda shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Worse than that. I almost would've preferred that to what just happened..." And she proceeded to tell him everything; how she thought Fernando had been wooing her but was actually wooing her cousin, how she found them kissing on the balcony, how she ran away, how upset she had been. She wasn't quite sure why she included all the details of her emotions, but it all came spilling out and she couldn't really help it.

"...and I get it," Imelda said in a huff, "They had to be discreet because of his father, but couldn't they have at least told me? Did they think _I_ would tell anyone?"

Héctor gave a shrug. "People don't usually think clearly when they're in love."

"In love!?" Imelda repeated with a scornful laugh, "They're not _in love!"_

"Aren't they?" Héctor asked, "I must've heard the wrong story then."

Imelda glared at him. "It's not love. It's just... just... infatuation!"

"Right. They've been together for almost two months and it's still just infatuation," Héctor responded dryly.

Imelda scoffed. "What does Alicia know about love anyway? Her heart's all over the place. For years, she's been telling me about her latest _pretendiente_ come to woo her. "Oh, Imelda, isn't Señor Joaquin just the sweetest? Oh, Imelda, Señor Mateo is so handsome! Oh, Imelda, did you see the flowers Señor Carlos brought me?" It's ridiculous! She's just confused."

Héctor peered at Imelda as she ranted. "Oh, now I see," he said sounding thoughtful.

"What? You don't believe me?"

Héctor shrugged again, picking at his guitar strings. "It sounds to me like _you're_ the one who's confused."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just thinking that maybe you're so upset about this whole thing because you don't want them to be happy. But they are and it makes you mad."

Imelda scoffed, extremely affronted. "Excuse me? Why wouldn't I want my own cousin to be happy?"

"Well, by the way you described her, you think she's prettier than you, don't you? More interesting? Gets all the men? Seems to me like you were glad that someone was paying attention to you and not her for once, but now you're upset that he was actually paying attention to her all along. Am I wrong?"

Imelda scoffed again, but couldn't come up with a scathing remark to contradict him. As much as she hated to admit it, it was true. Alicia had always been the more beautiful, the more talented, and the more interesting of the two of them.

Héctor nodded at her silence. "Hey, I get it. As beautiful as this face is..." He grinned for emphasis, "...my partner has always been more uh... macho than me. All the ladies flock to him. He's got the looks, the voice, the talent. Me? I'm just the skinny guy who writes cute little songs and plays the guitar on the side." He gave his guitar a strum. "Not that I mind. I'm not really after fame and fortune, but just sometimes, it's hard to be the invisible one, you know?"

Imelda glanced at him. Even though he was trying to play it off casually, she could see the slight pain in his eyes. Suddenly, she felt a connection to this obnoxious musician. They were the same.

"You write songs?" she asked, remembering his fake wooing from earlier.

"Meh," he replied casually, playing a C-chord, "Sometimes."

"What kind of songs do you write?" Imelda wondered.

Héctor gave a shrug. "I don't know, whatever I feel like."

Imelda thought back through the night. She hadn't been paying that much attention to the music for the entire night. She hadn't danced a lot and been more focused on talking to Fernando and Alicia than anything else. However, the more she thought about it, the music had been a very nice ambiance throughout the night. She had been to some parties where the musicians were too loud or too boring or just plain bad. Héctor and his friend had provided a good balance of slow and upbeat melodies that allowed the partiers to dance to or to simply listen and enjoy.

"Were any of the songs you were playing earlier tonight yours?" Imelda wondered.

Héctor thought for a moment and then nodded. "Sí. Did you hear " _Colores de la_ Rainbow"?"

Imelda also had to think for a moment. Héctor continued before she came up with anything, "It's not really about rainbows. It's more about living life to the fullest. You know like..."

He began strumming an upbeat tune on his guitar. He half sang, half mumbled a few words for her:

 _"_ _Live as the sun shines in the sky.  
_ _Live as far as the clouds can go._ _  
_ _Live as high as the birds can fly._ _  
_ _Live as colores de la rainbow."_

Imelda smiled as he sang/mumbled the words for her and nodded. "Oh, _sí!_ I do remember it," she said pleasantly. She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, still smiling. "It's a beautiful song."

Héctor gave a small pleased smile.

"I love music," Imelda remarked.

"You play anything?" Héctor wondered.

Imelda shook her head. "No. I do like to sing and dance, but I never bothered learning an instrument. My mamá always preferred I spent my time learning other things."

"Singing, eh?" Héctor said, looking at her and then at his guitar, "Any good?"

"Well, I..." Imelda felt her cheeks flushing, "I don't know. I've never really sung for anybody before."

"Ah, what does that have to do with being good?" Héctor asked, positioning his guitar for a song, "Go on, I sang for you!"

Imelda was sure she was bright red and was grateful it was pretty dark in the closet so he could not see. Héctor winked at her. "Come on," he said, "Just one verse of something. Something traditional maybe?"

He began plucking at his guitar strings. Imelda immediately recognized the slow mournful melody. Imelda found herself unconsciously swaying as he played. She saw him watching her and he gave her an encouraging nod. She took a deep breath and began to sing softly:

" _Ay, de mí Llorona  
_ _Llorona de azul celeste  
_ _Ay de mí Llorona  
_ _Llorona de azul celeste  
_ _Que aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona  
_ _No dejaré de quererte  
_ _No dejaré de quererte"_

Imelda took a deep breath as Héctor broke into a musical interlude. Imelda smiled at him and held up her hand. "That is all you're getting for now, _amigo_ ," she said.

Héctor looked like he was about to protest, but he decided against it and stopped playing. He grinned at her. "You're very good," he remarked, "Better than me by any means."

Imelda smirked. "Well you set the bar pretty low, didn't you?"

Héctor frowned at her teasing and flicked some tres leche cake crumbs at her.

" _¡Ay, idiota!_ You've already dirtied my dress enough tonight," Imelda cried out indignantly. Although as she said it, she was picking up another cake and advancing towards him threateningly.

"Wait, what?" Héctor asked, confused.

"You spilled tamatillo salsa all over me while you were running to the stage," Imelda stated.

"That was you?" Héctor asked, backing away from her and the cake.

" _¡Sí!"_ Imelda said, showing him the stain down the front of her dress, " _¡El ñango!"_

And she shoved the cake into his face. Héctor blinked through the stickiness. He slowly reached for another cake. Imelda pointed a threatening finger towards him. "Don't you dare," she warned.

He began moving closer, cake in hand, tres leche cream dripping down his face. Imelda backed away, still pointing her finger at him like a stern school teacher. "I'm warning you, _musico_..."

Héctor did not back away. They eyed each other carefully for a long moment. Then Héctor leapt forward, cake first. Imelda screeched and backed away, but Héctor grabbed her legs and managed to pull her back, finally getting the upper hand and shoving the cake into her face. She sputtered as crumbs and sauce dripped down her cheek and momentarily impaired her vision.

She could hear Héctor's triumphant laughter above her. He was still holding her down so that she could not retrieve another cake from the dwindling stack behind him. She fought against him and found he was surprisingly strong for how skinny he was. She let out a laugh too, but still struggled, ready to give him a piece of her mind. This was hardly proper behavior and she was ready to let him know it.

"You... you...!" she cried out through her laughter.

She finally opened her eyes and found his cake-covered face just inches above hers. She swallowed hard, not quite sure what to do. She suddenly smiled, recovering from the surprise of him being so close to her. "You've um... got something there," she remarked, pointing to his face.

He smiled back. "So do you."

They remained there, just smiling at each other, cake-covered face to cake-covered face. Imelda wasn't sure how long they remained like that, but it was suddenly interrupted by the door opening.

Héctor and Imelda looked to it, completely surprised. In the doorway stood a tall, brawny young man with perfectly quaffed hair and a dimple on his chin. When he saw the two of them lying on the floor in their compromising position, a cheeky grin spread across his face.

"Well Héctor, I was wondering where you had been all this time, but I guess I don't need to ask," he said, winking.

Héctor quickly got to his feet and wiped off his face. "Ernesto!" he said, "No, we were just−"

The young man who must have been Héctor's partner held up a hand. "You don't need to explain yourself, _amigo_. You've walked in on me doing far worse," he said. He clapped Héctor on the back. "It's about time you put yourself out there though. Well done!"

Imelda finally spoke up. Getting to her feet, she marched towards Ernesto and jammed a finger into his chest. "Now listen here you _musico indecente_. Nothing happened! We were just stuck in the closet and were talking."

"It sure didn't look like talking," Ernesto remarked.

Imelda flared up, but Héctor rested a hand on her shoulder. "How did you find us?" he asked Ernesto coolly.

"I heard your music," his friend replied, "I couldn't really tell where it was coming from, so I just opened every door until I found you." He laughed. "You're lucky I was up here when I was. When I couldn't find you after our intermission, I played a few songs alone. But then I couldn't remember how to play "The World Es Mi Familia" and I couldn't find your songbook so I decided to have _another_ intermission to go find you."

He clapped Héctor on the back again. "So come, my friend! Let us go back out there and play!"

Héctor nodded, glancing at Imelda over his shoulder. " _Sí._ Ah, you go ahead. I'll be right there."

Ernesto pointed earnestly at him. "Don't be long. I've already been away too long and the crowd wants to dance."

"I'll just be a minute," Héctor said.

Ernesto nodded and then disappeared around the corner. Once he was gone, Héctor turned to Imelda. "Well, uh... it's been fun," he said.

"I suppose that's one word for it," Imelda replied.

Héctor nodded, smiling. Imelda wasn't sure what to say. Now that they were out of the closet, she found herself not wanting to leave him. She had never been able to spend such a long period of time with anyone who wasn't her family− especially not a boy− and actually have a good time. Sure, he was scruffy, impolite, weird, and cheeky, but it was sort of endearing to her, even funny. He had been kind and understanding and he listened to her problems, plus he had adequately cheered up and successfully made her laugh. There weren't many who could do that. Also, she could tell he had a passionate and poetic heart that he tried to keep hidden. What she wouldn't give to try and unearth it.

But they were out of time. Good things always had to come to and end and their brief time in the closet was over. It was nice while it lasted though. He had to go play his music and she had to go explain herself to Alicia and Fernando. Héctor would become a thing of the past in a day or two. She cleared her throat. "So I guess I'll just... head back to the party. Goodbye, Héctor."

She turned to go, but Héctor called after her. "Wait!"

Imelda stopped and looked back at him. He looked surprised at his own outburst and immediately began shuffling his foot. Imelda looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

He looked horrified, as though he had just plunged into a freezing lake of water and was desperately trying to paddle out. "Listen, Imelda− uh, _señorita_... would you maybe... That is, could I..." He began rubbing at the back of his neck uncomfortably. Imelda raised an eyebrow at his nervous fidgeting. He cleared his throat. "You said you like dancing right?"

Imelda nodded. " _Sí._ "

Héctor nodded as well. "Right. So I was just wondering if you be at all interested in um, going dancing..." He cleared his throat. "Um, with me, that is?"

Imelda tilted her head, both her eyebrows going up questioningly. Héctor quickly added, "Not tonight of course because I'm supposed to be playing the music. It just wouldn't work. Because how could we dance if I was playing? We could dance without music, but that's not as fun. Then again, I guess Ernesto could play by himself, but I've already made him play by himself long enough and it just wouldn't be fair because I'm being paid to play tonight−"

"I'd love to," Imelda cut off his rambling.

Héctor looked at her, surprised. "You... you would?"

Imelda gave a nod, smiling. Héctor looked immensely relieved. "I... alright," he said, a grin spreading across his face, "I'll stop by later."

"You don't know where I live," Imelda pointed out.

Héctor puffed out his chest, his old confidence slowly coming back. "If it's destiny, I'll find you."

Imelda smirked. "Or how about I meet you at the plaza? There's a dance every Wednesday night."

Héctor shrugged, still grinning with his chest puffed out. "That works too."

Imelda smiled at him again, then she stepped forward and pecked him on the cheek. His face dropped in surprise and his hand went up to the spot. He looked at her with a hint of a smile playing across his lips.

"I'll see you then," Imelda said simply, " _Idiota_."

He grinned proudly. And with a final smile, she turned and left him standing by the closet.


	10. Justification

Ana had been a customs agent in the Land of the Dead for almost one hundred years. She sometimes ran the return station, checking the reentries, but she usually was put on the departure stations with the scanners and making sure everyone passing through the gate had a photo up.

She used to be bored with the departure station and preferred the reentry so she could see all the happy faces and gifts everyone brought back. She also hated the occasional person who came through departure that she had to turn away because they didn't have a photo on an ofrenda. She felt like she personally was breaking their hearts.

However, for the past several decades, she had grown to prefer the departure station.

This was because of one reason... or rather because of one _person_. He first came through her station around seventy years ago, ordinary as ever and stood in front of the scanner, but then the big red "X" appeared over his face, indicating that no one had put up his photo. He had looked very downcast when she told him this news and that he would be unable to cross over.

She thought for sure that would be the last she would see him and never gave him a thought after that, but then he showed up the next year. She immediately remembered him though. She recognized his straw hat and purple jacket, plus he looked like he had died young. Again, he stood in front of the scanner and once more, the "X" appeared over his face. He left, downcast again.

But he didn't stop. For the next twenty years, she saw him, continuously showing up with a hopeful smile, eagerly waiting to see if someone had put up his photo. And for twenty years, he still got the red "X" over his face. Ana had to give him props for his persistence. He must've been discouraged by always getting turned away, but he came back just as optimistic each year.

Ana had to admit, she was intrigued by him. However, as curious as she was for those first twenty years about him and his history, that curiosity was nothing compared to how much more interested she became over the following years.

After those twenty years of being denied entry, it seemed that he became more desperate.

Ana was on her shift, going about her business as usual, scanning people's faces and passing them through. She kept an eye out for her usual visitor to see if he would try again this year. She didn't see him anywhere (and he usually came early in the evening).

When the night was half over and Ana's shift was almost up, she was starting to think that maybe he wasn't coming and that maybe he had finally given up.

She began scanning the line, searching for any sign of a straw hat and purple coat. Someone stepped forward in front of the scanner. Ana pressed the button to start it while still looking through the throng of skeletons. Maybe he had gotten in a different line.

Suddenly, the scanner buzzed and Ana looked back to see the big red "X". Ana looked past the scanner at the old woman who had been rejected. "Oh, sorry. It looks like no one put up your photo, _señora_."

The old woman's face fell and she frowned at Ana. "Really?" she said in a surprisingly low voice.

Ana peered closely at her. There was something strangely familiar about her features. Before Ana could look too long, the old woman sighed and in a flash, was removing her gray wig and replacing it with a shorter, dark and shaggy one, and pulling off the pink dress to reveal a purple coat and pinstriped slacks. It was him!

"The scanner could tell it was me?" he asked, sticking a small beard onto the end of his chin.

Ana shrugged. "It scans your bone structure, not your clothes."

"Hmm..." He pulled his straw hat from his pocket and stuffed it over his hair. He then smiled at her. "You can't blame me for trying, can you?"

She couldn't help smiling back. "I guess not."

He shrugged and picked up his costume. "See you next year, _señorita_...?"

"Ana," she told him.

"I'm Héctor."

And see him, she did. His schemes began to become more elaborate with each year. It was difficult to spot him every time, especially since he sometimes went through different gates. He would often disguise himself in different ways, attempting to fool the scanner. He once came through in a wrestler's mask, thinking the scanner wouldn't see his face beneath it. Unfortunately, he had to remove it for the scanner and was found out. If there was ever a strange looking person who was acting out of the ordinary, chances were, it was Héctor. If a celebrity came waltzing through the gate without any private security, it was probably Héctor.

Once he tried to pass himself off as a deliveryman delivering a large party package to a family on the other side. He definitely put a lot of care into making his delivery look convincing; balloons, banners, bottles of alcohol, there was even a mini fridge full of food. Of course, he still had to pass the scanner, despite the fake delivery pass he had made. (He had tried to convince the custom's officer that his pass allowed him to cross the bridge without getting scanned.) His entire delivery ended up getting confiscated.

There was another time, he apparently tried to get through a different gate, holding somebody's femur, claiming his friend was on the other side without it and he desperately needed to return it to them. When he was denied access, he jumped the gate and ran towards the flower bridge, but was caught before he could step foot on it. Apparently he had been locked up for the rest of the night and his femur had been confiscated. Ana still wondered where in the world he got a spare femur.

Another time, he actually used a giant slingshot... or rather, he _attempted_ to use a slingshot. He had apparently crafted it himself and when he sat in it and pulled himself back for the launch, it snapped, which flung him backwards into a crowd of people waiting in line for the scanner. Ana had witnessed the chaos of that- all the people trying to reassemble themselves and sort out their own bones from everyone else's. Héctor was dragged away again, but wasn't locked up that time.

Those were only a choice few of his hair-brained schemes in an attempt to get through the gate and over the bridge. Ana almost looked forward to seeing him now, despite the chaos he usually brought with him. What would he come up with next?

Ana went about her usual business, scanning each of the skeletons who came through and sending them on their way over the bridge. She occasionally glanced over the crowd, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Then she saw him. He was just standing in line like any other skeleton. It had been a while since she had seen him without a disguise. He was looking a lot more ragged than before. His clothes were ripped and tattered, one of his arm bones had cracked and was being held together by tape. She also observed that his overall complexion seemed less pristine and white than the other skeletons around him and was more yellowish.

Ana stared at him as he moved closer. She had heard stories of the Forgottens, but had never really come into contact with them. She knew that they lived in the lower part of town and rarely came up among the rest of the dead folk. Most of them had given up on trying to cross the bridge long before their condition began to show and had resigned themselves to their fate.

Héctor clearly was a Forgotten. She had never stopped to really consider why it was so important for him to cross the bridge, but it occurred to her that this was more than just a way to pass time to him. He always put on a brave and breezy act, but now that Ana thought about it, this was much more serious to him than he was letting on.

He stepped forward in front of the scanner and Ana raised her eyebrows at him. "No disguises this time?" she asked.

He shrugged, smiling and she could see he had a golden tooth. "Well, you never know," he said, "Maybe _mi familia_ 's had a change of heart and finally put up my photo."

Ana felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was being purposefully forgotten by his own family? They were intentionally not putting up his photo? She had always assumed that maybe he just didn't have any family or friends to even put up his photo or at least he had died without anyone knowing. What could have happened to cause such a rift between him and his family?

Ana started the scan. It buzzed and showed the large red "X" as usual. She frowned and felt genuinely sorry for him. "Sorry, no photo."

Héctor shrugged. "Eh, well that's not surprising," he replied, "My wife died this year and she made it pretty clear that she wants nothing to do with me. Not only that, but the rest of our family doesn't either. Apparently, they don't even speak my name!"

Ana couldn't help herself. "What did you _do?"_

Héctor raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think it was my fault?"

Ana smirked. "Let's just say you've got a history of getting into trouble.

Héctor looked like he wanted to laugh for a moment, but then he sighed. "It's a long story," he said bitterly, "And I wouldn't want to hold up your line. Just know, it was mostly an accident, and you're right, it was completely my fault and I've accepted it."

He sighed again and looked momentarily dejected, but then he suddenly perked up again. "But I haven't accepted that it's impossible for me to get over that bridge," he declared, "I _will_ find a way!"

Ana chuckled. "Alright, you keep trying."

He smiled and leaned closer. "I just want to apologize in advance."

"For what?" Ana asked.

Héctor grinned. "You'll see.

With that, he winked and turned to saunter back towards the Land of the Dead.

Ana shook her head, holding back a laugh. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he had planned. However, she decided she couldn't be too angry with him now knowing what he was going through. All his ridiculous actions almost seemed justified now. Ana couldn't imagine slowly being forgotten by everyone she knew and on top of that, being unable to visit any of them on the one night of the year the two worlds were bridged. She would go crazy! She would've probably given up long before he ever had. It was impressive how long he was holding out hope.

As she continued to scan people and send them through to the flower bridge, she became lost in the routine. Her thoughts still wandered towards Héctor and the other Forgottens occasionally, but she tried to keep her attention on her job. Her shift would be up soon and she would have the chance to go see her living family. She sort of saw this privilege in a new light now. She had always been happy to cross over to see everyone on the other side, but now after witnessing those who could not, she counted herself extremely lucky.

She had just sent another couple on their way when she became aware of a faint rumbling coming from behind her. She paused before scanning the next person, listening to the unusual noise. The rumbling was quickly turning into a loud mechanical roar. Jolted by the sudden loudness, she turned around to see a large van coming barreling down the streets of the Land of the Dead and towards the gate. Everyone was leaping aside to avoid the van as it sped closer and closer. Ana could see it had something metallic attached to the front that looked almost like a snow plow.

Without much time to think, Ana leapt out of her booth to avoid the van. It collided with the booth and it collapsed, sending brick, metal, and other debris everywhere. Ana watched as the van sped forward out of the dust and towards the flower bridge.

However, as it reached the bridge, it immediately sunk into the petals like thick mud and the wheels began spinning in place. The engine revved and wheels squeaked loudly as they spun around uselessly while flower petals were flung into the air.

Eventually, the driver of the van finally gave up just as a group of security officers approached the door. They forcibly removed none other than Héctor from the driver's seat and dragged him back towards the Land of the Dead.

Ana could just make out the sound of him trying to smooth talk the guards as they dragged him along. He caught her eye just for a second as they passed and he smiled. Ana shook her head, trying not to smile back.

Apparently he got a full week in lockup for that stunt as well as community service to repair the gate he had destroyed. Ana wasn't surprised. She also fully expected to see him next year with an all-new plan. She couldn't blame him in the slightest. She just hoped she wouldn't be dodging fast moving vehicles next year.


	11. Kiss

Imelda had never been kissed. Sure, she had a lot of boys through the years offering themselves up to her, "Imelda, will you marry me?" they all asked; and she ignored them all. But then Héctor came up out of nowhere and completely swept her away. Well, not right away. She thought he was annoying at first. But after spending some time together, listening to him play, going dancing... It was only a matter of time before she was head over heels for the goofy _musico_.

Now, they had been seeing each other for at least three months; one officially, two unofficially. However, recently, there was only one thing on her mind besides Héctor himself... Why hadn't he kissed her?

It wasn't like they never had any opportunity. They always found time to sneak away and be alone even under Imelda's parents's watchful eyes− all that time in the plaza, sneaking off to watch the sunsets... There had even been a night recently when he came to her window and they snuck out to the edge of town to stargaze. If that wasn't an opportune moment, she didn't know what was! They had been completely alone, his arm was around her, the atmosphere had been right. What was holding him back?

Why hadn't he even made an _attempt_ at the very least? Granted, she hadn't either, but she had long ago made up her mind that she was going to let him take the lead on this one. She had been the one to initiate everything else so far in their relationship; the first time they held hands, their first "official" outing, meeting the parents, and so on. Now it was his turn to take the lead in something. It was his time to step up and prove to her that he was confident enough to be with her.

But good grief! He definitely was _not_ stepping up! Imelda had resorted to dropping hints and getting a little more physical than usual in an effort to prod him in the right direction: "Oh, you have something on your face" she would say as she gently rubbed at an imaginary spot next to his mouth, taking care to let her fingers linger; or always resting her head on his shoulder whenever she had the opportunity; or saying something ridiculous like "You know what I like about you, Héctor? Your lips. They look really soft." She felt so foolish, but she was getting desperate.

She had even taken to "prepping" her own lips all the time with different dyes in hopes of drawing his attention to them. It worked to an extent because he always commented on it, but never took any action. Ugh, what was his deal?

All her frustration culminated to a climax in one afternoon when they met to go for a walk. He took her outside of town where there was a stream forming from the recent rain. They walked in silence for a while, simply holding hands, and Imelda wasted no time in resting her head on his shoulder as she always did. It was quiet, it was peaceful, and they were alone, surely now was the perfect moment to kiss her; so she began her hint dropping.

She heaved a great and thoughtful sigh. He looked down at her. "What is it?" he wondered.

"I was just thinking," she replied airily.

He chuckled. "Don't do that. You might hurt yourself."

She gave him a slight shove and he laughed again. "Alright, what were you thinking about?"

She bit her lip as though embarrassed, but really, she was trying to get him to look at her mouth. "Well, I was just wondering actually... have you ever kissed anybody?"

Héctor looked a little surprised at the question, but then he smirked. "That's a little personal, isn't it?"

"Well..." Imelda moved closer to him, "We _are_ official now, aren't we?"

Héctor cracked a smile and wrapped an arm around her. "I guess we are."

Imelda ran a finger gently over her own lips. "Because I've never kissed anybody before so I was wondering if you had."

Héctor stared at her for a moment as though entranced and Imelda thought maybe she was finally getting through to him. She began to lean closer, ready for him to finally make his move. But he then turned away suddenly, smiling mischievously. "As a matter a fact, I _have_ kissed someone before."

"Wh-what?" Imelda asked, dumbfounded. She had not expected that.

" _Sí_ , when I was about twelve," Héctor continued, "A girl name María used to follow me and Ernesto around _everywhere_. I think she liked Ernesto more, but when he hardly looked at her, she started focusing more on me. And one day she ran up and just planted a big one on me."

He sounded extremely proud of this and Imelda resisted frowning at the story. Some random girl got a kiss out of Héctor and here she was making herself look like an _idiota_ in order to get him to realize she even had lips.

Héctor did seem to notice Imelda's sudden sour mood and he nudged her. "Don't worry, Imelda," he said, "I turned her down right away. You don't have to worry about fighting María for my affections."

Now Imelda _was_ frowning. She glared at the ground as they continued to march forward. She might not have to fight this María off (not that Imelda couldn't take her of course), but that didn't change the fact that Héctor had already so easily kissed another girl before. And Imelda had _never_ been kissed in her life! All she wanted was to kiss the stupid boy she was so crazy about walking beside her and he couldn't even give her that little thing!

Unfortunately for Héctor, that was the moment he chose to say, "I've learned since then how to properly woo a lady" as he pulled Imelda closer.

It was too much for Imelda. He most certainly did _not_ know how to woo her. He was doing everything wrong! She had never been so angry at him. She pulled out of his grip, flared her nostrils at him, and deepened her frown into a scowl. She jabbed a finger at him. "You− you're just−" she couldn't think of the right word that engulfed all her frustration towards him and she ended up saying, " _¡Músico estúpido!"_

Héctor looked completely baffled at her sudden outburst. Imelda stuck her nose in the air and began to storm away. She stopped, not quite feeling satisfied; so she turned back, approached Héctor and gave him a mighty shove, sending him tumbling backwards into the stream with a great splash. _Now_ she was satisfied and she marched off in a huff, leaving a very confused and very wet Héctor sitting in the stream.

She got ready for bed that night, pondering the whole spectacle. Héctor had never struck her as a very shy individual. He was a performer after all, plus he had never been shy around her in the past. He always said the most ridiculous things to her that most other men would never say. No, it couldn't be shyness. He certainly wasn't _acting_ shy. He was acting more clueless than anything else.

How could he not realize that after three months of courting a woman, it was usually expected of the couple to have kissed by then, probably more than once. Was he waiting until marriage? Imelda blushed at the thought of marrying him. No, he didn't strike her as one of those types either. Simply by listening to the songs he wrote, one could tell that he was a very passionate individual. There was no way he was repressing his feelings.

The only reason she could come up with and the she kept returning to was that he didn't WANT to kiss her. But that was absurd! Why wouldn't he want to kiss her?

There was a tap at her window. Her head shot in its direction. There was only one person who would be tapping at this time of night. She sighed in annoyance, debating whether or not she should ignore it. Finally, after the third or fourth tap, she slumped over to the window and swung open the shutters, almost hitting Héctor in the face. He took a moment to compose himself, grasping onto the window's ledge. He was just tall enough to peek into her window on the second floor by standing on a lower scaffolding.

" _Hola_ , Imelda," he greeted her with a sheepish grin.

"What are you doing here, Héctor?" she asked with some exasperation.

"I came to talk to you about earlier," he said, "You seemed upset."

Imelda scoffed, turning her gaze away from him. "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, I might be wrong, but a happy person doesn't just go pushing people into streams."

Imelda sniffed indignantly.

"So what's wrong?" Héctor asked, "Was it something I said?"

Imelda didn't answer and contented herself with glaring at him.

"Right. I'll take that as a ' _sí_ , Héctor. You're so smart. Continue, _por favor_.'"

Imelda was not amused despite the impish grin Héctor threw her way. He pulled himself further up onto the ledge so that his entire upper half was leaning on the window sill.

"So where did it start?" he asked, half to himself, half to Imelda. "You asked me about uh... kissing?"

Imelda stuck her nose in the air. "And so what if I did?"

Héctor gave a shrug from his position on the window sill. "Well, I answered your question and then you uh... pushed me in the stream."

Imelda squinted her eyes at him, daring him to keep pressing. "So?"

Héctor looked a little intimidated by her coldness, but he continued. "Well, that's what I'm trying to figure out. Why? What did I do?" he asked cautiously.

Imelda scowled at him. "I think you know why," she said huffily.

Héctor did not respond and he looked at his hands. He appeared to be thinking it over, probably replaying every moment in his head in an attempt to figure out why Imelda should be angry with him.

Finally, Imelda couldn't take it and burst out, " _¡Ay, idiota!_ Are you ever planning on kissing me?"

Héctor looked surprised as he looked back up at her. "Of course," he replied softly, his eyes round and sincere.

Imelda refused to be seduced by his goofy boyish charm, that crooked smile, those dimples, his stupid big ears, that floppy, soft hair... NO! Now was the time to get down to business.

She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh really?" she challenged him, "Then what are you waiting for?"

Héctor tilted his head, looking confused, as though the answer were perfectly obvious. "You," he replied simply.

"Me?" Imelda repeated, now confused as well.

Héctor nodded. "You're the one who's always taking charge and I know you like being in control, so I thought 'I'll let Imelda take this.' And since you've been hinting at it _forever_ , I thought for sure, it must be coming soon, but you just haven't gone for it. I've been thinking maybe you were nervous. So I keep trying to let you know I'm all for it, but nothing I do or say has helped. I keep taking you to all these romantic spots, but you just haven't gone for it. Like, what about when we went stargazing the other night? I thought that was the _perfect_ opportunity! But nothing happened."

Imelda peered at him as he spoke. "You... you've been waiting for _me_ to kiss _you?"_

" _¡Sí!"_ he cried in exasperation.

Imelda let out a laugh and crouched down so that they were at eye level. "That's funny," she remarked, "Because I've been waiting for _you_ to kiss _me_."

Héctor looked momentarily surprised, but then he smiled. "That's why you pushed me in the stream?"

Imelda nodded, smirking and leaning closer to him. "I'm sorry. That was a little harsh."

Héctor gave a shrug. "Eh, you know. If I didn't deserve it then, I probably deserved it for something else I've done."

Imelda giggled and leaned closer still, their foreheads nearly touching. "Or something you _will_ do," she remarked.

"That too."

Imelda hummed affectionately and stroked the side of his face. "Don't ever change," she said.

He grinned. "Not even in death."

Imelda smiled. Then in an instant, the gap between them was closed and their lips were joined. It started out soft and hesitant, but as Imelda's hands slid into his hair, it grew deeper and more passionate. Imelda was on cloud nine. She had heard great things about kissing before, but never realized how wonderful it _actually_ was. There were no words to describe the euphoria she felt as their lips moved together. She could hardly believe it took them this long to do it. Plus she had been right before; Héctor _did_ have soft lips.

They would have continued kissing for much longer had the scaffolding beneath Héctor's feet not suddenly given way with a loud crack. In an instant, he was suddenly hanging from the window sill by his hands, feet dangling in the air.

"What was that?" Imelda's father's voice echoed through the house, " _¡El ladrón!"_

Imelda looked to Héctor, panicked. "You'd better get out of here before my papá finds you."

Héctor peered up at her. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

"Go!" she told him.

With a wink, he let go of the window sill and dropped down to the ground, landing on top of the small shed he had obviously used to climb up to her window. He broke right through the roof with a loud crash.

Imelda rolled her eyes as he clumsily emerged through the door in a puff of dirt and dust. He waved up at her as though he hadn't just completely humiliated himself. Imelda shook her head in exasperation and waved her arm at him, urging him to flee because she could hear her father running down the stairs.

The man himself suddenly appeared in the yard. " _¡El ladrón!"_ he cried, brandishing a frying pan over his head like a weapon, "Thief! _¡Vagabundo!"_

Héctor hurriedly picked up his hat and scurried out of the yard, ducking as Imelda's father began throwing pieces of wood from the broken scaffolding and shed at him. " _¡Vete, chico astuto!"_ he was yelling at the retreating figure of Héctor.

" _¡Papá! Papá_ , stop! It's only Héctor!" Imelda called down to him from her window.

"Héctor?" her father repeated. Then he scowled into the darkness where Héctor had disappeared. "You keep away from my daughter, _el buscarruidos!"_

Of course, Héctor was still allowed to continue seeing Imelda after making a long arduous apology to both her and her father for sullying not just hers, but her family's reputation. He also had to agree to fix the broken shed and scaffolding. Later, Imelda's father admitted that he found the whole thing laughable, but had to keep up his reputation as the formidable and intimidating father protecting his daughter's honor.

As for the kiss itself, if someone were to ask either Héctor or Imelda who initiated it, neither of them could answer. "It just sort of happened" they would say. And so it did.


End file.
